


Boston

by eff_reality



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Boston, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-04-21
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 91,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eff_reality/pseuds/eff_reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy is a PhD candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University, and Dominic is a rent boy in Southie.  All other relationships are mostly peripheral. **Work in progress!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Suffolk doesn't actually have a program in Cinema Studies, but Dom isn't really a male prostitute either. Suspend that disbelief, yo.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Note:** Suffolk doesn't actually have a program in Cinema Studies, but Dom isn't really a male prostitute either. Suspend that disbelief, yo.  
 **Note2:** This started out as a GRE vocab ficlet for the prompt word "meretricious." Now it's going to be a (very long) series. It's a work in progress, but I've got lots of plans. ;)  
 **Note3:** Sections are broken up into "scenes" marked off in traditional screenplay format. "INT." means interior setting, "EXT." means exterior setting.

 

**SCENE 1. - INT./EXT. SUFFOLK UNIVERSITY LIBRARY - EARLY EVENING**

Billy pushes himself out and away from his carrel, turning away from his stack of revisions against his better judgment. Within seconds, he's out the front door of the uni library, the New England air cooling his overheated cheeks and clearing his vision. He'd been holed up for nearly ten hours straight working on his dissertation, running solely on coffee and determination. Billy prefers tea, but since he's been getting two hours of sleep a night (if that) for the past two weeks, it doesn't quite do the trick anymore.

He stands on the library steps, closes his eyes, and opens his mouth, allowing the refreshingly bitter air to swirl through his nostrils and creep over his tongue.

Billy's always been careful to pace himself when it comes to his studies. He always starts to at least plan his thesis as soon as he's given an assignment, he always hands his work in on time (if not early), and he has never taken an extension in his life. Friends have often been skeptical of just how much time management skill one needs in pursuing a degree in Cinema Studies (scoffing, "Anyone can watch a movie and write about it"), but they'd learned. They'd learned, if not from watching Billy furiously juggle his doctoral coursework and his teaching fellowships, then from reading his critical work. People can accuse his discipline of not being serious, but they certainly can't accuse Billy of not being serious about his discipline.

But after nearly a year and a half of dissertation writing, Billy has become frantic. The deadline for honors work is fast approaching, and if he doesn't submit to his defense committee by that deadline, it'll mean paying another semester's tuition. Ironically, that financial pressure has left him unable to concentrate on German expressionism, let alone write about it. He'd stared at pages and pages of his own words marked up with red ink until his mind was a mess of _surrealism_ and _the subconscious mind_ and _theatrical space_ and _the cinematic apparatus_ , words that had stopped making sense an hour ago.

He's jittery and can't think and needs a fucking _release_ before he can go back up to that tiny desk and finish this godforsaken thing. Without thinking, he hops on the T and heads to Southie.

*

**SCENE 2. - EXT. STREET IN SOUTH BOSTON - FORTY MINUTES LATER**

"Where's Orlando?" he asks the blonde leaning against the wall with a fag dangling between his lips.

Grey eyes twinkle with mirth. "On vacation, sweetheart." The words aren't quite clear around the fag. The flame from his silver lighter dances inside his pupils.

"Is that subsidized?" Billy's voice trembles. "I didn't realize there were benefits packages in your line of work."

The blonde laughs low in the back of his throat, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He exhales a long elegant line of smoke.

He reminds Billy of Hubbell Gardner. Only boyish. And not as pretty. Still, the way those long soft bangs hang across his forehead makes Billy want to take a few steps forward and push them out of his eyes.

"Glasgow?" the blonde asks, sounding almost sure of himself. He crosses his arms and shifts his weight onto one hip.

Billy guesses this would make him Barbra Streisand. _Your girl is lovely, Hubbell_ , he wants to reply. "Sorry?"

"Glasgow. You're from there, yeah?"

Alright. So Hubbell Gardner, only boyish, not as pretty, and slightly English. "Yeah. Glasgow, yeah."

Hubbell smiles around another drag and shifts his weight again. He holds the fag in his mouth and adjusts his elaborate leather wristcuffs.

Billy tries to remember if Robert Redford ever played a hooker. No. He'd played a guy _named_ Hooker. Still, it's better for Billy to stick to images from _The Sting_. He can't even fathom how embarrassed he'd be if his students knew he'd seen _The Way We Were_ , let alone had it memorized.

Hubbell's looking at him expectantly.

"Sorry. Did you say something to me?"

He smiles wide. "No, sweetheart. Just wondering why you're still standing here."

Billy lets out a breathless laugh, hoisting his bag back onto his shoulder.

"Do you prefer Orlando or will I suffice?"

"I, ehm. I've never actually done this before."

The blonde's brow furrows. "Then how--"

"A friend of mine. He's a regular." Billy rubs his damp palms against the rough denim of his jeans.

Hubbell nods slowly, impressed. He picks a piece of tobacco off his tongue and flicks it onto the concrete. "Sooo."

"You'll suffice," Billy says quickly.

  
  
**Barbra Streisand & Robert Redford as Katie & Hubbell, _The Way We Were_**

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Services and fees are discussed.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Services and fees are discussed.  


**SCENE 3. - INT. HUBBELL'S BEDROOM - A MINUTE OR TWO LATER**

Hubbell's room is sparse but not without personality. The bedsheets are plain and of poor quality, a sickly green color, but there is an issue of _Nature Photographer_ laying out near the end of the mattress. The 70s style wallpaper is peeling at its edges, but there is a Manchester United poster adorning the far wall.

It reminds Billy of his childhood bedroom.

"Manchester, then?"

Hubbell looks up from his belt, which he was working on. "Yeah." His steely grey eyes fall to the bed and he steps forward quickly, letting the two sides of his belt hang open. "Sorry," he mutters, ushering Billy aside so he can discard the photography magazine under the bed.

Billy finds it somehow significant that the first hooker he ends up with is from overseas. His first male hooker, anyway. The first female had been in Glasgow, at the wise encouragement of his cousin when he was all of fourteen. First and last female hooker. First and last female, period.

He suddenly remembers what he's doing up in this complete stranger's room and starts consciously observing Hubbell. The long, tapered fingers, covered in silver rings. How nervous they seem at the simple action of pulling the belt from his pants. Will they still against Billy's skin? _Inside_ Billy? _No._ Billy actually shakes his head at this thought. He doesn't need all that. Not with a hooker. "What's your name?"

Hubbell lets the belt fall to the floor and actually offers one long-fingered hand to Billy. "Dom."

Billy looks down at the hand, then back at Hubbell's face with skepticism.

"No, really. 'S the name I was born with. Has nothing to do with this," he smiles, indicating the air between them. "You can make it Dominic if that's more comfortable for you."

"Dominic, then." Billy echoes his smile and offers his own hand. "Billy."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that," Dominic replies automatically.

Billy is startled.

"I'm kidding," Dominic laughs out and pulls Billy toward him by the proffered hand. "I'm kidding, sweetheart."

Now standing mere inches from him, Billy can see the faint stubble on Dominic's jaw and feel a hint of breath ghost across his own mouth. The angles of his face are beautifully sharp, but Billy can't seem to move on from his eyes. They seem a little bluer than they were a moment ago. He can't decide if Dominic has chameleon eyes or if they just give the appearance of change at such close range. Regardless, there's something softer about them now. It puts Billy at ease. The dark, unfairly long lashes sweep down and then up under even darker eyebrows, and Billy wishes he had a camera.

A rough hand pushes through the hair at his temple. Billy gives a tiny gasp at the touch and immediately feels ridiculous for it.

Dominic leans in, a smile in his voice. "Easy, love." Billy can feel the vibrations in his neck. "I can hear you thinking."

Billy closes his eyes and tries to breathe. _You're a grown man._

"How do you want it, then?"

"Ehm."

Dominic's fingers are soothing where Billy's neck slopes into his shoulder. "What do you need? How do you like it?"

"I don't even know. It's been a while."

There is some hesitation, then: "How long?" He seems genuinely interested.

Billy manages to keep his voice steady. "Long enough. I'm a bit wound up, you could say."

"Mmm," Dominic concurs, thumbing at the tensed muscles in Billy's left shoulder.

After a few moments, Billy realizes that he's being waited on. "Ehm. I don't need. Everything." He feels his face heating up in embarrassment again, this time at his sheer inability to ask for what he wants from the very person he's paying for it.

"Alright. So, um." Dominic drags two fingers up the seam at the front of Billy's denims while licking an identical path up the side of his neck. The gesture has a question mark at the end of it.

Billy inhales sharply, nodding. "Yeah."

Dominic whispers his asking price for oral in Billy's ear like a secret, and Billy places the right amount gingerly on the bedside table, remembering that little piece of protocol not from his first time in Glasgow but from countless movies.

He lifts Billy's messenger bag from his shoulders and sets it down on the floor. "Do you want my clothes off?"

"Okay."

Dominic smiles sweetly--which seems completely inappropriate to Billy, considering the context--and starts unbuttoning Billy's shirt. He doesn't stop what he's doing to say, "No kissing on the mouth."

"I know," Billy says quickly. That much he remembers from the first time.

Now those hands are sliding up his white undershirt and pushing the open dress shirt off by the shoulders. Dominic's eyes fall to his mouth and he reaches up to thumb Billy's bottom lip. "I can't tell you how much I'm hating that rule at the moment."

Billy blushes, amazed at the difference between the man with the wicked hips and sharp tongue he met down on the corner just ten minutes ago and the man now in front of him being so painfully gentle. He wonders if Dominic's consciously adjusting to him, trying to make it easier. He wants to tell him that he doesn't need to be treated like glass, but he also doesn't think he's in any position to tell Dominic how to do his job.

 

 


	3. Fic: Boston (close-up interlude, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy watches Dominic at work.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Billy watches Dominic at work.  


**CLOSE-UP ON DOMINIC**

He's smaller than Billy. Taller, but smaller. Lean where Billy is full.

Laying on the bed completely naked and deciding whether or not to regret this in advance, Billy watches Dominic uncover slopes of naturally bronzed skin and wonders how that's possible in Boston in December.

Dominic notices the question in his eyes. "Orli and I were in Mexico. On a job," he clarifies, undoing his buttonfly with ease.

Billy barely hears this explanation because he notices that Dominic's uncovering not pants of any kind but dark pubic hair. The sun is setting through the dingy window, creating reddish highlights that Billy quickly takes a mental picture of before respectfully averting his gaze.

Dominic's jeans _shush_ down his legs and Billy hears him work to clear his throat as he steps out of them. He's either approaching or at the tail-end of a cold, Billy realizes, something he couldn't detect when standing nose to nose with him just moments ago. Billy focuses on an oval-shaped chip in the ceiling and listens for the inevitable sounds of socks, cuffs, then rings being removed. He suddenly feels like he's stretched out on an examining table waiting for the doctor to get his gloves on and go to work.

Before he can smile at the thought of Dominic wearing nothing but a surgeon's mask, the mattress dips under Billy's feet and he's brought back to his body. Or, more accurately, Dominic's body, which is slowly making its way up and over him. The rings and cuffs haven't come off, after all, and, Billy notes with amusement, neither have the socks. He can't see them, but he can feel them brushing against his own bare feet as Dominic tosses the hair out of his eyes and settles between his thighs.

Dominic is impossibly warm, like he's brought the sun back with him and is carrying it in his pores--a distinctly un-American sun that makes red blossom and tingle over Billy's sheltered skin. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply as Dominic's chest and pelvis line up with his. Dominic releases the beginning of a laugh against his chin. "Eyes open, Billy. I'll be so offended if you don't watch."

Billy obeys and smiles a bit. "I'm sorry, I ju--"

"Shhh." Dominic's eyes soften. "'S alright, love." He rests his weight on one bent elbow and curls his free hand around Billy's shoulder. "I get it."

Billy sighs heavily and decides that this has to be, by far, the strangest encounter in the history of the world's oldest profession.

He's certain that his Glasgow hooker wasn't this considerate, even as Billy looked up at her with eyes twenty years younger, terrified. She didn't examine him so carefully, drag featherlight fingertips from shoulder to elbow, press her nose into his chest hair (not that he'd had any at fourteen). She didn't purse her lips in goldfish kisses down his sternum, then drag her tongue across his nipple. Again. Again.

His Glasgow hooker had descended on him without pretense. And that's all he remembered, really.

Dominic is taking his time, easing his blood. Billy knows he doesn't have to, and he is grateful. He's started gentle, almost loving, as if helping Billy pretend this is an encounter of a different nature will put less pressure on it. What Dominic doesn't realize is that his methods are doing the exact opposite.

Billy would scream _just fucking do it!_ \--and Dominic would probably listen--if he weren't enjoying the suspense just as much as it's putting him on edge. He raises his eyes to the ceiling and focuses on the feel of Dominic's shoulder pressed against his hip, his thumb rubbing at the inside of his elbow, the flat of his tongue wet against his skin. When Dominic's hair drifts across his ribs, though, he has to look again.

The colors overwhelm him. Pink sky softening the bleach blonde tips of Dominic's hair. Dominic's funny little tan nose against his own pale, pale skin. The long dirty blonde bangs mingling tentatively with the sparse hair at his thighs. Billy is suddenly regretful that their positions aren't reversed; he really would love to see that hair rustling against the green pillow under his own head.

As Dominic palms his hips, the feel of the cold silver against his skin brings Billy back to _The Way We Were_ , the scene where a drunk Hubbell, naked save his navy dogtags, climbs on top of Katie and presses his face into her neck and does or doesn't have sex with her before falling asleep. It's still unclear to Billy, even after so many viewings, exactly what happens underneath those sheets.

Billy gives in to the urge to push Dominic's bangs out of his eyes, but just as his fingertips drift across his forehead, Dominic takes all of him into his mouth.

The shock of acute pleasure brings Billy back to the present, the reel in his head finished and left unattended, spinning wildly in the projector. One hand leaves Dominic's hair, the heel pressing into the mattress. The other clenches hard as he lets out a surprised little _unhh_. He can feel Dominic's wet lips smile at the corners as they slide obscenely back up the length of him. His plush lower lip drags off the crown and he looks up at Billy with narrowed eyes as he uses the tip of his tongue to tease at the wet slit. Like a fucking porn star.

Billy takes in a shaky breath between his teeth, his shoulders lifting off the mattress a bit. "Fuck." Dominic sinks down again, the cold metal encircling his thumb and forefinger scorching Billy at the base of his cock. He feels Dominic's tongueteethlips slipping a bit around his own fingers as he settles into Billy's crotch, getting a good grip on him with his mouth. The long fingers slide out, fingertips leaving a wet trail along the crease of Billy's thigh before creating a mirror image of Dominic's other hand at the opposite hip, palms pressing down as Dominic sucks _up_. Billy's hips lift of their own accord, creating a sickly pleasurable stutter in Dominic's movement. Dominic's eyes narrow at Billy playfully as he presses his hips back firmly to the mattress with his big hands and dives down again gracefully.

Breathing in and out slowly, Billy completely stills under Dominic, save for the insistent tremors now running through his thighs and stomach. He bites his bottom lip as Dominic's mouth finds a torturous, undulating rhythm around him. When Dominic looks up at him again, Billy quickly looks away. Not a second later, one rough hand is cradling his cheek--the one turned into the duvet--and bringing it back to center. The other hand is grasping the base of his cock again as Dominic smiles, "Let it go, sweetheart," and curls his gorgeous pink tongue around him.

Billy swallows, and when the tip of Dominic's tongue finds his slit again, he exhales, "Jesus fucking Christ," and Dominic makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat.

Dominic falls back into his previous deep sucking rhythm until the tremors beneath Billy's skin become full-on vibrations. The last thing Billy realizes before his mind goes completely blank is that Dominic's hand is still curved at the side of his face. A moment later, his eyes are closed and all he can think about is the incredible, relentless pleasure building steadily inside him. It burns like a hot coil deep in his gut as profanity spills from his mouth in puffs of air.

Just before he comes, Billy moves quickly into that deeply irrational, greedy space that's only possible when someone other than himself is about to give him an orgasm, and his tongue snakes out to taste the pad of Dominic's thumb at the corner of his mouth. Groaning at the taste of tobacco, he licks the length of the digit sloppily. At this, Dominic groans too, and for a brief moment, this isn't just about Billy.

Afterward, all Billy can think is _thank God thank God thank God thank Christ thank you..._

He covers his face with his hands, smiling uncontrollably, beaming into his palms. He feels his boxers dropped onto his stomach and the mattress sink a bit on his right. He shifts to accomodate Dominic, who's laughing a little as he fusses with something in the bedside drawer.

Billy clenches his eyes and before he can think to stop it, his smile turns into a sob. Dominic stills next to him, and he feels like a huge fucking idiot, but it's too late now, as tears are tracking down his face and his sated body has managed to start trembling again. He wipes at his eyes and looks to his right at Dominic, who's busy rolling a fag on his bare stomach. His fingers are deft as they line the tobacco up along the center of the sheet, but his eyes are on Billy, wide not in shock but in sympathy. Billy instantly knows that this isn't the first time a client of his has cried.

He waves off Dominic's look, insisting with a smile, "It was good."

Dominic splays one hand on Billy's forearm, lifting the cigarette to his mouth and lighting it with the other.

When Billy's done crying, he takes a deep breath and lets it out through pursed lips. "Three years. It's been three years."

The side of Dominic's mouth curls up in a boyish smirk and he takes the fag from his mouth and puts it between Billy's lips.

Billy takes a deep drag. "That's good."

"Freudentränen," Dominic muses, rolling a second fag for himself, and Billy lets out a breathless laugh, pressing the heel of his hand to his still-wet cheekbone. He can't get away from his dissertation even here. "A cry, a laugh, and a smoke. That's all you needed. Bet you're sorry you paid for that blowjob now."

They smoke in silence and Billy feels oddly comfortable. In a way, this stranger knows more about him than most of the people in his life. Dominic's had his dick in his mouth and seen him cry, all in a span of ten minutes. "Is this where you live?"

"Yup."

"You mean, you don't have a, ehm...?"

Dominic looks amused. "A pimp?"

"Yeah."

"No. Me and Orlando have our own operation."

Billy picks a piece of tobacco off his tongue and tosses it over the side of the bed. "Is that dangerous?"

Dominic considers this for a moment. "No. Hasn't been yet, anyway." He settles himself into the headboard, curling a hand around the top as he examines Billy. "Are you really alright? Or are you really a closeted married man with three kids?" He twists his torso to peer at the clock on the bedside table. "I mean, do you need to be home for dinner soon?"

The look on Billy's face is incredulous. " _No._ I'm pretty sure I'm not married."

Dominic hesitates before asking softly, "Then why are you here? I don't imagine you'd have any problems..." He waves the hand holding the fag through the air vaguely.

Billy sighs, taking on his Professor Voice. "Work takes up so much of my heart now. It's hard."

"...What do you do?"

"...I'd rather not..."

Dominic nods quickly, dismissively. He'd almost forgotten.

Billy realizes that Dominic could very easily pick his workbag up off the floor, open it up and peruse any of his course syllabi or the many drafts of his final dissertation chapter and get a good idea of what he does with his time. But he's reluctant to reveal anything about his life outside of these 100 square feet of space. He hears the stomach beside him growl deeply and laughs. "Hungry?"

Dominic's brow furrows as he presses his palm to his stomach. "Guess so."

"I, ehm." Billy pulls on his boxers and looks at his watch. "I have to go back to work soon, but I've got to eat before then."

Dominic's eyebrows raise in anticipation.

"Would you be interested in takeout? I saw a Chinese place just down the block." Billy instantly feels foolish but forges ahead. This situation can't possibly get any weirder at this point, anyway. "It's the least I can do for crying all over your pillow."

Dominic takes one final drag and nods enthusiastically as he stubs the fag out. "Yeah, alright."

 

***  
 _Freudentränen_ \- happy tears

 


	4. Fic: Boston (4/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom makes Billy smile.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Dom makes Billy smile.  


**SCENE 4. - INT. NANNING WOK - THREE MINUTES LATER**

Dominic avoids Billy's eyes as he effortlessly twirls lo mein noodles onto his chopsticks. The ease with which they kept each other company in the confines of Dominic's bedroom has been thrown into turmoil in this equally tiny but still public space. Perhaps it's just Billy's post-coital nirvana wearing off. Still, he feels responsible for Dominic's suddenly sullen demeanor--so responsible that he adopts it himself, resting his chin on his hand and sighing heavily around a mouthful of shrimp fried rice.

What exactly had he been thinking, inviting his hooker out for a meal?

Billy remembers his dissertation chapter waiting for him on the fifth floor of the uni library, and his already somber mood begins to plummet.

Dominic clears his throat, interrupting the buzz of the (horribly unflattering) flourescent lighting overhead. Billy doesn't raise his eyes until he senses Dominic invading his eating space, grabbing a plastic fork that lies unused next to Billy's carton of Peking ravioli.

He uses the fork's prongs to poke through the plastic that encases the utensil and quickly pulls it through. The newly freed fork joins Dominic's greasy, used one, both wedged between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. With his left, he shimmies one spring roll out of its plastic sleeve, then another, and places them side by side on the discarded lid of their shared pint of egg drop soup. He raises his grey eyes briefly to make sure that Billy is watching. He is, albeit with more confusion than interest.

Dominic makes a big production out of stabbing the two forks into the two spring rolls so that they stick straight up of their own accord.

Billy is surprised by his own wide smile. He knows where this is going.

Sure enough, Dominic lifts the two fork handles and performs a brief but inspired can-can number, the spring rolls substituting for dancing feet.

Billy just smiles and shakes his head at him from across the table.

Pleased with this reaction, Dominic drops one of the rolls and bites the metaphorical toes off the other. "You know where that's from?" he tries to verify with his mouth full.

"Of course. _Gold Rush_."

Dominic's brow furrows and he tilts his head to one side, looking very young.

Billy's smile goes wider. He knows where this is going, too. " _The Gold Rush_. Chaplin."

" _Benny and Joon_ ," Dominic insists.

"Yeah, it's in that too," Billy nods, searching for mushrooms at the bottom of his carton of rice. "But _The Gold Rush_ came first. That's you doing Depp doing Chaplin."

Dominic's expression doesn't change as he takes another bite of the spring roll/foot. Billy can feel his eyes on him. "I can't tell how old you are."

"Is that a problem?"

"No. No." Dominic dislodges the fork from the spring roll and gingerly reaches for one of Billy's Peking ravioli, asking for permission with his eyes before stabbing it. "It's just. I usually can."

Billy nods. "I get that a lot. ...I'm probably older than you think."

Dominic looks at him expectantly.

"That's all you're getting for now." He punctuates the statement with a big bite of rice.

The meal continues in comfortable silence.

 

 

  
  
**Charlie Chaplin and the Dance of the Rolls in _The Gold Rush_**

 

  



	5. Fic: Boston (5 & 6/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A morning class and a cup of coffee with a good friend.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** A morning class and a cup of coffee with a good friend.  
 **Note1:** Embedded video within. Oh yes.  
 **Note2:** Special appearance by music critic Elijah Wood.  


 

 

**SCENE 5. - INT. PROFESSOR BOYD'S CLASSROOM - THE NEXT MORNING**

"Okay," Billy presses Pause on the huge media console at the podium. The three figures in the frame freeze immediately, creating a makeshift still. The first film classes Billy took had been during his undergraduate years and were, as a result, all pre-digital, the professors rendering VHS an unthinkable format. Celluloid was the standard then, and when a shot was carefully analyzed, Billy and his classmates had the privilege of running their eyes over an _actual still_ \--a single, perfect frame. Although DVDs are simpler to use, not to mention much cheaper to procure, Billy still feels a little elitist about them. As a mere fellow, though, there are only so many excuses he can make for getting his hands on a 35mm print for class.

He feels a twinge of regret looking over a slightly less crisp, colorful James Dean, knowing what this very image looks like when spooled through a projector with care. Still, Billy feels vibrant and in control this morning. This American Cinema survey course, one of the two undergraduate courses he teaches as a doctoral fellow, has often been like pulling teeth--a combination of it being a tedious requirement for future film majors and a tedious requirement for Billy himself. Billy's heart fills inexplicably at the sight of any moving image projected on a screen, no matter the subject or the quality of the image. But there's only so many times he can watch _The Birth of a Nation_. The kids, understandably, agree. Billy's tried to make it interesting semester after semester, spicing up the syllabus in any way he can, but there's only so much leeway he's allowed in the film lineup by the department head.

But this morning, he's feeding off of the energy of the thirty-six faces smiling up at him, illuminated by the Technicolor light. _Rebel Without a Cause_ is always a safe bet, and it happens to be their first color film of the semester, as they're moving chronologically. The appeal of the lead actor certainly doesn't hurt, either. There is a palpable electric charge in the room that hasn't been present since their viewing of _Citizen Kane_ (another safe bet). It's that feeling of something _happening_ \--the attempt to understand something beautiful and important, together--that Billy gets off on more than anything in the world.

He moves and speaks with energy and confidence and endless passion. The fact that he completed edits on his chapter last night and managed to get five solid hours of sleep has him positively shining. It's in these moments that he feels a bit like a performer, and he thinks he's perhaps just as captivating as what's on screen.

"Any observations about the composition of this scene? This shot in particular." He takes a minute to let them breathe and take in what they've just watched. A couple of hands shoot up. "Shani."

"The choreography of the actors, their movement."

Billy nods enthusiastically. "Yes, go on."

"Jim keeps trying to connect with his father, get some sort of reaction out of him, but the mother keeps stepping in between them. The father tends to stay slightly in shadow, too. And when they get to the staircase, they're on three different levels."

"Yes. Hold on a sec." He jumps the DVD forward a bit to get the appropriate shot.

Shani continues. "The mother is highest, obviously the head of the household, the strongest and most important. Jim is in the middle, and the father is sort of cowering in the background."

"Yes. Great." Billy looks at the screen a moment, then turns back to the class, his tone heavy. "...What about that staircase? Besides making the power dynamic within the family more obvious, what else does it accomplish? Or better yet, what does it represent?" The class looks perplexed. After a few moments, he knows he needs to give them more. "Consider the reasoning behind the architecture of this house. And two-storey houses in general. Why do we make houses two storeys? Other than to have more room on a small plot of land." He waits a long moment, then one of the two Jasons calls out.

"...Privacy?"

"Yes! Go on."

Jason lifts his shoulders to his ears and shakes his head, an endearing "No clue" expression on his face. A few students laugh.

Billy's standing now, his eyes bright. "Anyone?"

Shani answers again. "The second storey is for private spaces, that's why our bedrooms are always upstairs." Billy smiles wide and nods, encouraging her. "The staircase is like a connection between the family's private life and public life. Jim wants to make the private public and his mother is literally standing in his way." She looks incredibly satisfied with herself, and with good reason.

"Excellent. That's very well put, Shani." He reaches for the console again. "Let's go back to that first shot. The one we're _supposed_ to be talking about," he raises an eyebrow at the kids. He pauses the DVD and only has to wait a brief moment.

"The TV," someone calls out.

"What about the TV?"

A long silence. A few of the kids look up at him expectantly while the others stare intently at the screen.

"Come on," Billy says, gently playful. "I know you can get this."

A tentative hand goes up to ear-level.

"Lisa."

"Well, there's static on it. It can sort of represent the family's inability to communicate with each other."

Billy nods half-heartedly. Not quite what he was looking for, but a good enough observation. "Yeah, okay. What else?" He backtracks. "What I'm looking for is _kind of_ related to what Lisa just said." After a long minute of silence, he gives in. "Okay. Remember last week, when we spoke about the youth culture that would emerge in America in the early 60s? When was this film released?"

"1955," a few students answer in unison.

"Right. So this is sort of on the cusp of that. In a few years, young people in their teens and early twenties would become the main audience for films, and producers wouldn't know how to cater to them. In addition, they're still competing with television. That's why you have all these crazy gimmicks in the early to mid-50s, like Cinemascope and 3-D. The studios were trying to lure people away from the telly and back to the theatres. And it didn't really work. You see a serious decline in movie attendance between the early 50s and 1960. By the early 60s, producers are so desperate to get kids back to the movies, they're clamoring for any formula they think _might_ work. That's why you see all this wonderful experimentation in American cinema in the 60s. It's also what gave us Elvis movies."

The kids laugh.

"So that TV, that staticky TV, it represents miscommunication, like Lisa said, but it's also a quite literal representation of the youth culture and the older generation's inability to keep up with it and understand it. If they made a remake of _Rebel Without a Cause_ today, there'd be an iPod buzzing in the middle of the room."

A couple of students make thoughtful sounds.

Billy raises the overhead lights with the console, and they segue seamlessly into a general discussion of the film as a whole. They maintain the momentum they've had for the past fifty minutes, and Billy knows that he'll go to bed tonight feeling accomplished instead of frustrated. Just when he thinks it's time to wrap up, one of his favorite students in this section raises his hand. "Chris."

"I might be reading too much into things... but is there something... homoerotic between Jim and Plato?"

A few students chime in with enthusiastic _Yeah_ s and _Seriously_ s.

" _Ah._ " Billy leans against the podium, reaching both hands back to support himself. "Well, I'll find the homoerotic in any film, as I'm sure most of you have noticed by now."

They giggle.

"But in this case that's a very founded observation. Sal Mineo was a closeted gay actor at the time, and Ray actually directed him to play Plato as if he's in love with Jim. And Ray often presents Dean as this objectified temptress figure, whether consciously or unconsciously. And Dean himself was rumored to be bisexual. That dynamic does sort of work its way under the skin of the characters."

This discussion thrills Billy, gets his academic blood going like nothing else in his field. As he runs at the mouth about the end of the film and what it signifies for the relationship between the two men, he briefly considers including _Rebel_ as a last minute addition to his upcoming Queer Classical Hollywood lecture at the Harvard Film Archive. Unfortunately, though, the film is indisputably not of the Classical era, so it won't qualify.

"Ultimately, who's the real rebel?" Billy asks aloud. But before he can answer his own question (" _Mineo._ "), a student in the back who never speaks in class raises an arm to feign scratching his head--really to take another peek at his watch. His obvious restlessness is not what gets to Billy; it's the complex gathering of leather spiraling around his bent arm. Billy suddenly feels the material sliding along the crease of his thigh and his body jerks slightly. He coughs, scratches his leg, and flushes. His mouth tugs up at the corners without him intending it to, and a different kind of glow comes over him. He says, "Okay, that's all for today," in a distinctly unprofessorly voice.

*

**SCENE 6. - INT. STARBUCKS - AFTER CLASS**

"So how was your weekend?" Elijah's knee bounces under the table.

Billy hides his smile behind a tall Breakfast Blend. "Can't complain."

" _I_ can. Fucking Dave's wife goes into early labor and I have to pick up the slack."

Billy half-listens as Elijah goes on about how he's going to now have to cover gigs for three local bands this week instead of one. The other half of Billy looks his friend over and wonders, not for the first time, how it is that they get along so well. Lij is so young and decidedly _hipster_ , if the terminology of Billy's students is to be trusted. They must look like the Odd Couple to onlookers, Lij with his thick, black-rimmed glasses, Clash t-shirt, cardigan, and skinny jeans (not to mention the sheer altitude of his hair), and Billy dressed his age and profession but not quite looking it in the face. _Two peas in a pod_ , Billy muses.

Then again, he supposes it's only natural that they connect, both being writers, critics of the arts, and gay. Plus, he never has to watch his profanity around Lij, a rare blessing in his mostly buttoned-up existence.

"I can't fucking stand being the baby, man. They dump all abandoned assignments on me. It's fucking brutal. Consider yourself lucky, you geriatric bastard." He tips the bottom of his latte toward Billy's cup.

"'M sorry. You must be totally stressed." His sympathy is sincere, but he's still smiling despite himself.

Elijah takes a long gulp and gives a heavy sigh before he notices. "What's with you?"

Billy bites his lip and looks out the window at the light snowfall.

"Holy shit. You got laid, didn't you?" Billy doesn't answer. "I knew you looked more relaxed than usual!" He smacks Billy on the arm hard. Twice. "God _damn_!" He settles into his chair and leans across the small table, looking at Billy expectantly.

After a moment of playful hesitation, Billy smirks, his voice going low. "...Remember Orlando?"

Elijah's jaw drops. "No. No _way_!"

Billy holds his hand up, encouraging Elijah to wait until he's done. "Not Orlando. But."

"No." He looks incredulous. " _Dom?_ "

Billy can't help the smile that results from hearing Dominic's name out of someone else's mouth. It's like confirmation that he wasn't a dream but a lovely little secret.

"No way. No _fucking_ way!"

"You never...?"

"With _Dom_? _No_ ," Elijah practically squeaks.

Billy plays offended. "And why not?"

"No, he's hot," Lij defends. "It's just. I dunno. I always thought Dom was a little scary."

"No, he's a sweetheart." He flushes the very same flush he'd had at the end of class not twenty minutes before, realizing he's used Dominic's own pet name for him.

Elijah looks pleasantly scandalized. " _God._ What was it like?" He lowers his voice and leans in a bit more. "Did he tie you up? He seems like he'd be into that kind of stuff."

"No," Billy laughs. "No. It was, ehm." He thinks of the cracked leather and the cold rings. And soft blonde hair. "It was good. Really, really good."

Elijah tips his cup against Billy's again. They both smile at each other in silence. Then: "Do you think you'll go again?"

"Nah. I felt awkward. And besides, I don't think my bank account can handle it." It sounds rehearsed. And it is.

 


	6. Fic: Boston (7 & 8/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom sees a client and Orlando comes back from Mexico.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to [](http://msilverstar.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://msilverstar.livejournal.com/)**msilverstar** for the title suggestion.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Dom sees a client and Orlando comes back from Mexico.  
 **Note:** Much love to [](http://msilverstar.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://msilverstar.livejournal.com/)**msilverstar** for the title suggestion.  


 

**SCENE 7. - INT. DOMINIC'S BEDROOM - THAT EVENING**

_Shampoo. Razors. Vitamins._

_Shampoo. Razors. Vitamins._

Dominic has gotten so good at what he does for a living that he can zone out completely while doing it and still be bloody good at it.

Right now, folded in half on his back, he's making a mental list of things he needs from the pharmacy ( _not_ "the chemist's," he still has to chide himself).

_Shampoo, razors, vitamins. Shampoo, razors, vitamins. Shampoorazorsvitamins._

He turns it into a sort of song in his head so that it may be burned there for the next hour--that way he'll remember to write the items out on his hand instead of having to do a lap around the flat to be reminded of them.

_Shampoo-razors-vitamins. Shampoo-razors-vitamins._

It's now in sync with the insistent beating of the headboard against his bedroom wall. That reminds him:

_Shampoo-razors-vitamins-C-and-L. Shampoo-razors-vitamins-C-and-L. Shampoo-razors-vitamins-C-and-L._

(His and Orli's shorthand for Condoms & Lube--an ever present item on the list.)

_Shampoo-razors-vitamins-C-and-L. Airborne. Shampoo-razors-vitamins-C-and-L-airborne._

Dominic frowns, as his pharmacy list song is getting to be more of an aria than a mantra. He swallows wetly and winces a bit. Maybe, he thinks, he'll pick up some of those really sweet little cherry cough drops that don't help a sore throat at all because they're really just candy marketed as medicine. He ate the entire bag of Orli's when he had strep last winter. _What were they called?_

"Mm..." he moans and curls his hands around the top of the headboard, closing his eyes in feigned pleasure. He's trying to picture the bag of cough drops behind his eyelids. White with black lettering. He opens his eyes. He can't remember the brand name.

Dominic swallows again and wonders absently if he'll have to stop working for a bit like Orli did last winter. He took--what?--two weeks off, something like that. That sounds nice. It'll give him more time to photograph, and he can afford it, after Mexico.

They've really lucked out with their clients. With Orlando's looks and Dominic's charm, they've managed to turn some pretty high-profile tricks. Investment bankers, fashion designers, even a CEO once. Often women. They can't _quite_ consider themselves "escorts," but they do well. Orli, especially.

Mexico was technically his job--a regular by the name of Angela Riordan. Forty-six years old, divorced, and a VP at Credit Suisse. Angela had a delightfully profane sense of humor and a penchant for partying like the big boys (clearly). She'd met Orlando through her son Liam, his boyfriend for a couple of months about a year ago--that is, until Orli found a more attractive offer in the form of his mother. It had been awkward at first, to say the least. But Orli can bat his eyes out of any uncomfortable situation. He and Liam were cordial to one another, and Angela requested him at least once a month, mostly on long weekends to her house on the Cape. He said she made him feel like Julia Roberts.

Angela's two-week trip to Puerto Vallarta was in celebration of her starting her own consulting firm, and she had offered to pay Orlando's way in exchange for his companionship. However, Angela's business partner Mia would also be in attendance, and thus came the need for Dominic.

In the end, Dominic had only served as a companion in the literal sense. Though Mia had enjoyed his company, she never made any formal requests, and after a week, Angela had sent him back to Boston with a sincere Thank You and the cash he would have made had he stayed the second week. Dominic had been eager to get back, anyway. He'd forgotten to bring his camera.

Most of Dominic's johns are of a more everyday breed. As it turns out, New England is full of perfectly normal, well-adjusted people who are too hardened by the bitter cold to seek sex as a byproduct of a loving relationship (or vice versa). They want it fast, good, and hot. Nothing too rough, no bullshit, no questions asked. Then back to work, back to school, back to the wife, back to the kids. It's been shockingly safe and shockingly lucrative.

The client currently occupying Dominic's bed is of this set. Sam. Or at least that's what he's asked Dominic to call him for the past two years.

Sam has two little girls, an incredibly sweet wife, and fucks Dominic the same way every time. He's one of the few regulars who talks to Dominic afterward, presumably to alleviate any guilt. Dominic supposes sharing conversation makes it feel like less of a secret for the client.

When he feels the sudden tremble and warmth of Sam coming inside him, Dominic remembers: _Ludens, that's what they're called._

The condom isn't even off before Sam's saying, "You doing anything special for Christmas?"

Dominic laughs and lowers his legs to the mattress, hands still loosely curled around the headboard. "No, man. You?"

"Uh." Sam pulls his boxers on. "Chris and I are taking the girls to her parents' for a couple of weeks." He looks at Dominic pointedly.

Dominic nods. He gets it.

He's still surprised that Sam has managed to see him every other week without fail for two years straight. Their first time, he had been in worse shape than yesterday's Billy. It had taken nearly an hour of Sam sobbing and throwing things before Dominic had successfully calmed him down. Dominic thinks he should have an honorary degree in Psychiatry for the shit he has to deal with sometimes.

"Taken any good pictures lately?" Sam pulls on his undershirt and goes to splash water on his face, as usual.

Dominic smiles. "No, but I'm going to Salem next weekend. In search of a few birds." He laughs, but Sam either doesn't hear or doesn't get the double entendre.

"Oh yeah?"

Dominic closes his eyes and swallows again. He wonders if going down on Billy aggravated his throat. Then he wonders, not for the first time, if Billy will come back. They did eat a meal together, after all. _How fucking weird is that?_ He's known "Sam" for two years now and he still doesn't know his real name.

Then again, Billy could easily have been lying. Dominic thinks of his pretty mouth and his pretty eyes, and his hand moves down of its own accord. _Gorgeous._ Dominic would believe anything that came out of that little mouth. He'd want to, anyway.

The minute the door to his bedroom shuts with a little _snick_ , he pulls the little blue leather book from under his mattress and writes:

 

_December 3_  
7:16pm  
Sam  
Visit #49 

_Snow. Sore throat worse. Pixie in my head (see Dec. 2)._

*

**SCENE 8. - THE BLACKTHORN BAR - LATER THAT EVENING**

The waitress looks at Dominic like he's grown a third eye when he asks, "You don't have anything frozen, do you?" He reaches into his pocket for another Ludens. "I'll have a Killian's. Bottle, please."

Orlando is utterly amused. "Aw. No peach margarita for you. That was so gay."

"Fuck off. I'm sick," Dominic lisps around the candy.

"You know those things don't do shit."

Dominic sticks his tongue out at him, balancing the Ludens precariously on the tip.

"Very nice." Orlando leans all the way back and stretches. The New England chill still hasn't made its way back into his bones.

"I take it the rest of the trip went swimmingly. No pun intended."

"Yeah," Orli smiles, looking off at some imaginary horizon. He's clearly withholding.

"What?"

His eyes twinkle as he leans in. "Angie might be bringing me on for good. Making me her, uh..."

"Permanent pool boy?"

"Paid companion." Orli gives a little kick to his shin under the table. "Cunt."

Dominic nods, looking at a group of guys playing darts. "Good on you." He takes a pull off his bottle.

He shouldn't be upset. He knows he's not the right "type" for that--he never has been. Still, he wouldn't mind having a sugar mama. Then he'd only be getting paid to fuck one person instead of several. And isn't that the basic definition of a relationship anyway?

"She loved _you_ , by the way. Angie. If she'd met you first, I think you'd be in line for pool boy."

Dominic smirks. He's grateful he found Orlando at all, really. Business was kind of desperate for the first month or so, and Orli took him under his pretty little proverbial wing. Showed him the best spots for cruising. Taught him how to advertise through word-of-mouth rather than in the back of the fag rags. Orlando had been around much longer than he had and had thus cultivated a virtual catalogue of who was safe and who wasn't.

Dominic had been lucky; Orli had learned it the hard way. But you wouldn't know it, to look at him.

"I had a crier last night." He twirls a pre-rolled fag between his fingers, already anticipating his first smoke of the evening.

"Oh yeah?" Orlando sounds vaguely interested.

"A bit of a mess, but _really_ adorable. 'M still not quite sure what he was doing with me." He concentrates too hard on pulling a stray bit of tobacco out of the paper. "He bought me Chinese." Dominic raises his eyes to find Orlando giving him a look. "I know."

"Hmm." Orlando's more than vaguely interested now. "Do you think he'll be coming back, then?"

Dominic shakes his head dismissively, wincing around another swig of Killian's. "He came looking for you, actually. Said his friend was a regular. ...Any ideas?"

Orli yawns and gives another luxurious stretch. "I don't know. I have a lot of regulars." Dominic flicks his coaster, sending it flying toward Orlando's throat. He catches it clumsily, all long, awkward limbs. "Are we jealous?"

"We are repulsed." Dominic finishes the bottle and stands, sticking the fag between his lips. He nearly jumps at Orli's gasp.

"Let's go to Paradise!" Dominic gives him an impatient look. "Come on! We have to celebrate my return!"

"I feel like shit, Orli." He pats his pockets in search of his lighter.

"Yeah, and this helps." Orlando reaches up to flick his cigarette.

Dominic pulls it out of his mouth. "I'm just not in the mood for a bunch of twinks tonight, is all."

Orli clutches his breast, feigning deep and sudden pain. He can't technically be classified a twink (he is nearly six feet, after all), but he certainly acts like one, and they both know it. Orli gives another loud gasp. "Mexico! I gave you Mexico." Dominic's eyes fall closed and his head drops all the way back. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be a pale Manc wanker. Come on!"

Paradise is the last place Dominic wants to be tonight. He was really looking forward to curling up on the futon in front of Animal Planet and starting his hiatus early. Plus it's fucking cold out. And pretty soon, it's going to be ridiculously motherfucking cold out. Perfect time for a vacation.

But Dominic can tell by Orli's body language that he's eager to hook up tonight--for free. Something Dominic hasn't done in he doesn't even want to think how long. Something he hasn't wanted to do in even longer than that.

He points his fag at Orli on his way to the front. "You're paying for a fucking cab home, man."

 


	7. Fic: Boston (9-10+/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two lovers meet again.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Our two lovers meet again.  


**SCENE 9. - INT. PARADISE - THAT SAME NIGHT**

There is something to be said for living and working with the same person for two years. There comes a rhythm. An easy, silent rhythm.

Dom-n-Orli go to the bar. Dom-n-Orli drink. Orli leans; Dom hunches.

Orli's eyes fix. He nods. Dom raises his glass. Exit Orli.

Dominic moans a little as the sweet icy mixture slides down his raw throat. He knew Paradise could be counted on for frozen drinks, just as he knew Orlando would be on the pull. He takes another big gulp of his strawberry daquiri. It's helping, but the lights are making his glands throb.

Orli expects him to go home after he finishes his drink, and he'd _really_ like to, but he won't. He knows better. For all Orli's experience, he can't help how he looks. Neither can Dominic.

As if on cue, a hand is pressed boldly against his lower back. He turns to his left, cutting challenging silver eyes at the unwanted presence. The hand flinches away and the body it's attached to retreats. For most people raised as Dominic was, it works every time. It's in your blood by the time you're about eight, and it never goes away.

Orli couldn't give that look if his life depended on it. That _Are you serious?_ look. There's a reason he still keeps Dominic around, after all. Security.

Dominic finishes the daquiri in three greedy swallows and turns to watch Orlando make his path. His chosen conquest for the evening seems harmless enough: a wiry little brunette who glows half-naked with glitter. Not Dominic's type. But then Dominic doesn't really know what his type is anymore.

Orli and the glitter twink giggle and sway a bit, and Dominic feels okay to dance. Not with anyone, of course. It's been an unspeakably long time since he's wanted foreign hands on him, but he still knows he's fucking sexy and he likes to feel it from time to time. Besides, if he doesn't make use of at least one of these shitty techno songs, he'll feel like tonight was a complete waste.

He finds a blessed little circle of space on the elevated level where the go-go boys dance, right next to one of the speakers, and plants himself there. He grabs the railing with both hands, his rings _clink-clink-clink_ ing down, and leans his weight forward. When he finds Orlando again, he nods to himself-- _check_ \--and leans back, tapping two of his rings against the metal to the beat.

Dominic lets his eyelids fall shut and licks his lips, canting his hip, his head cocked to one side. There they are. The eyes on him. He knows it doesn't take much. He smirks and looks out across the expanse of dance floor at nothing. His hips start moving in a subtle tick-tock rhythm of their own accord, and Dominic tries to imagine yesterday's Billy out there. He's certainly pretty enough for this set. Too much body hair, but then Dominic doesn't figure Billy for the type to go shirtless in the club anyway. He conjures the image in his mind's eye nonetheless: Billy shirtless in ripped jeans, angel wings strapped to his wide back. And even though he knows instinctively that Billy's not the type for makeup, either, Dominic applies pale glitterdust to the crests of his cheekbones.

He giggles to himself and starts to truly dance, palms tapping out the heavy bass beat against his thighs. The song meshes into another, something more Latin, and Dominic lifts his arms above his head and writhes.

Behind his eyelids, Angel Billy is looking up at him from the crowd below, glowing white. He rakes his eyes over Dominic and smiles appreciatively. When Billy jerks his head in a _come down here_ gesture, Dominic shakes his head: _no, you come up here._ Billy bites his lower lip in contemplation, but then he's just there, right in front of him, leaning with his back against the railing, wings slightly crushed. Dominic is pulled forward, and he licks his lips before dragging his tongue in an upward diagonal sweep across Billy's mouth. Before Billy can react, Dominic is drawing in that pouty lower lip in an almost-kiss, and Billy lets out a breathy little _Mm._ Firm hands push into Dominic's hair.

They are his own.

Dominic is startled by the feel of silver confetti falling onto his head and shoulders. He doesn't know how many songs have begun and ended since he closed his eyes. When he looks out onto the dance floor again, Orlando isn't where he was before, and Dominic knows it's time to go home. But just as he's about to turn to make his way down to the main level, he spots Orli clinging to the side of the bar, his eyes glazed over. The glitter twink is nowhere in sight.

He thinks _Fuck_ , and nearly sprints down and through the crowd.

In less than two minutes, he's searching Orli's pockets for his coat tag and dragging him back out into the shocking cold.

Welcome to Paradise.

*

**SCENE 10. - INT. THE RED LINE T - MIDNIGHT**

Billy leans the crown of his head back against the window and lets his eyes fall shut. It's been a long but satisfying day. Immediately following his afternoon class, he'd headed straight to the library, not to work on his dissertation, thankfully, but to beef up his lecture for the HFA. A week from tomorrow is opening night of the series he's programmed, and he'll be speaking about one of his favorite films, _Morocco_.

In all honesty, he hadn't even really needed to prepare more than a rough outline for it. Aside from being an expert on Dietrich, Billy can pretty much wing a discussion on queer subtext in any film, even if he's just seen it for the first time. But this _is_ his first series, and he wants to do it properly. The archive has been good to him--certainly better than the bastards he pays to educate him--and he'd like to repay them for their hospitality over the last four and a half years.

He opens his eyes and yawns, squinting against the harsh overhead lighting. He wishes he could enjoy it more. But the "Queer" series is merely a welcome distraction from his main focus: his nightmare of a dissertation. Billy pinches the bridge of his nose, images of Dietrich in white tails fading into Nosferatu's grotesque hands. Tomorrow is Tuesday, which means another weekly meeting with his advisor, hopefully one of his last. After last night, he should be in good shape, but meeting with Sherlock is never fun.

The vibration of his mobile startles him, and he pulls one glove off so he can dig for it in the pocket of his trousers. He discovers a new text message from Elijah, begging him to come to an afterparty next week for one of the bands he's covering. Immediately suspecting that Lij is trying to set him up with someone, he declines, citing opening night at the HFA.

Lij replies: _its not til after. you need a break or youll end up fucking every hooker in town._

Billy laughs aloud at that and hesitates before typing a quick _ok_.

He shoves the phone back in its rightful place and closes his eyes again. He remembers his student's wristcuff that morning and smiles. It's been over a day now, and he can still feel Dominic's hair sweeping over his ribs.

He allows himself to indulge in the memory until the familiar robotic male voice announces the Charles/MGH stop. The windows are wet with melted snow, but when he turns in his seat, he finds a small space behind his head where the river is visible through the glass. It's not yet frozen over, and he knows it won't be for at least another month. Down below along the green "shores," some of the trees are draped with little twinkling white lights, and Billy feels warm at the sight of them.

Turning to sit properly, Billy lifts his eyes to the Red Line map right below the ceiling of the car. Even though he's taken this same trip countless times, he finds comfort in the visualization of his journey. He follows the thick red line back in the other direction, all the way down to JFK/UMass. The path from his stop, Central Square, to Dominic's covers the entire main branch of the Red Line. _Opposite ends of the rainbow_ , he thinks with a little laugh.

*

**INTERLUDE: AWKWARD - 12:16am**

"The fuck are we going, mate?" Orlando leans all of his weight on Dominic.

Dominic doesn't answer, but it doesn't matter because Orlando has already forgotten the question. He huffs out hot little clouds of air-- _haa, haa, haa_ \--and turns his face into Dominic's neck, giggling uncontrollably. "Fucking stop, man. The last train's in ten minutes."

"Fucking get a _cab_ , man," Orli shoots back, stumbling a bit. "I told you I'd get it."

"Something tells me," Dominic grabs onto the back of Orlando's coat, dragging him back to an upright position, "you don't have anymore cash on you."

"Something tells me you're right."

"Come on now, fucking _walk_!"

Orli's eyes fall half-shut and Dominic heaves one heavy arm around his shoulders, pulling him along.

Billy spots them half a block down and considers going back in the other direction. He hadn't realized it was really Dominic, though, until he was too close to turn on his heel without it being horribly awkward. He's never seen Orlando before, but he assumes the long-limbed mess Dominic's carrying like a bundle is the business partner in question. He adjusts the strap of his workbag and braves forward, hoping Dominic will be too preoccupied to notice him.

Dominic hears footsteps a few yards ahead and glances up to take stock of the lone passerby. His stomach does a horrible somersault when he sees Billy, rumpled, exhausted, and wingless, walking toward them but pointedly avoiding their eyes. "Fuck," he whispers, half to himself and half to Orli. _Boston is too small._

The moment before their eyes meet, Billy knows that this encounter is going to be even worse than he'd anticipated, for him anyway. It's too soon; the memories are too vivid. The way Dominic looks at him, he almost feels like this is the morning after they should have had or, rather, would have had if they had met under different circumstances.

"Billy." Dominic can't hide the embarrassment from his voice. He doesn't want to. He wants Billy to know that he's perfectly aware (and ashamed) of how ridiculous they look.

"Hi." Dominic looks sated, Billy thinks. Annoyed, but sated. His cheeks are flushed and his hairline still glistens a bit from exertions Billy'd rather not consider. His tongue darts out to lick at his upper lip, and Billy notices traces of a vibrant reddish pink color inside his mouth, like he's been sucking on a lollipop.

"Pretty eyes," Orlando drawls, referring to Billy, sticking his bare hand between the buttons of Dominic's coat.

"Sorry." Dominic keeps his voice low, thinking that if it stays below a certain level, he can almost pretend like this whole exchange never happened. "Orlando," he indicates his unwanted appendage.

Billy smiles uncomfortably. He's alarmed by the filthy images flashing behind his eyes: Dominic taking a few steps forward and dropping to his knees before him right here in the middle of the street, fuck Orlando, fuck the few random drunken coeds running around in miniskirts even though it's 25 bloody degrees out. He looks at Dominic's hair, by turns fluffy and matted with sweat, and catalogues it a second time.

"Is he okay?" he manages to croak. He feels unbearably small in his oversized peacoat, clutching his workbag with both hands--one at the strap over his shoulder and the other palming the bulging front of it--as if that'll stop his fingers from wanting to grab and tear and scratch and then glide and swipe.

"Yeah," Dominic replies, exasperated. "Had a bit of a run-in with his old friend Mr. E."

Billy laughs a little, thankful for Dominic's ability to instantly lighten the mood.

"Sorry, we've got to get the last T." Dominic's already walking. Orlando has almost fallen asleep standing up, head against his chest.

Billy nods. "Be good." He continues his path too, vaguely hearing Dominic's soft reply of "'Night, mate" behind him. He releases a breath into the cold that he didn't realize he was holding.

Not even two minutes have passed between them.

 


	8. Fic: Boston (11 & 12/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy receives some frustrating news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry so short, but there's a monstrous scene coming up next. Also, will probably go on very brief hiatus after the next installment, due to my involvement in that crazy [remix](http://community.livejournal.com/lotrips_remix) thing.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Billy receives some frustrating news.  
 **Note:** Sorry so short, but there's a monstrous scene coming up next. Also, will probably go on very brief hiatus after the next installment, due to my involvement in that crazy [remix](http://community.livejournal.com/lotrips_remix) thing.  


**SCENE 11. - INT. PROFESSOR SHERLOCK'S OFFICE - THE NEXT MORNING**

Billy feels relatively calm approaching Sherlock's door. This is the "homestretch," as it is said here, and although he doesn't expect praise, he expects to feel overwhelmingly closer to _done_. And that expectation permits him to not hover for a few moments (as he usually does) before knocking on the professor's stubbornly shut door.

"Come in," Sherlock's gruff voice booms from the other side.

Billy enters quickly, his bag a little lighter than usual.

"Hi, Billy. How are you." It's not a question in Sherlock's monotone.

Despite the sinking feeling his greeting inspires, Billy steps into the room with a genuine smile. "Can't complain. You?"

Sherlock doesn't answer. He's gathering a stack of papers from the right side of his pristine desk and moving it to the left. The newly marked up version of Billy's final chapter looks small and helpless in his hands. Sherlock nods at the ugly orange leather chair, and Billy sits. The look on his face makes Billy instantly sick.

"I really wish you had gotten this to me on Friday, like we'd planned."

Billy lowers his eyes and nods, contrite, his feeling of sickness now accompanied by palpitations. Sherlock starts flipping through the pages, and Billy's mind starts racing as to what could possibly be the problem. This is their third time going through his final chapter, and it wasn't even that flawed the second time around.

"...This section on expressionist sets, and how they relate to Tim Burton's work... is pretty weak." Billy holds his breath. "I'm not really comfortable with it. It needs to be fleshed out a lot more, rewritten, completely reorganized."

Billy clenches his right hand into a fist and pulls at his bottom lip with his left. The section in question is ten pages long, a small fraction of his total dissertation, but large enough to ruin the rest of his week. And as Sherlock continues, Billy quickly realizes that what he's asking for is not just an overhaul of the section, but also the addition of at least one more source, maybe two.

After ten minutes of Billy mentally reorganizing the next few days and not listening to his advisor at all, Sherlock shuffles the stack of papers back in order and removes his glasses. He silently hands the stack to Billy and regards him. "I'd like a chance to look this over again before the Monday deadline."

Billy feels like getting up and throwing the chair he's sitting in. "So that means I have to hand this in, with my conclusion, on Friday?"

"At the latest."

Billy sighs heavily, breaking eye contact.

Sherlock gestures with the folded pair of glasses. "I know you've got a lot on your plate with the HFA. But you knew what you were getting into. We talked about this last semester." Billy focuses intently on his hands curled around the edge of the orange cushion. He's sure he hasn't felt this small since living with his grandmother in Glasgow. "You have a good relationship with them, and I think that's great. The department's really proud of that. But this is your dissertation. It should take precedence over everything." He indicates the stack of papers, now hidden in Billy's bag. "This is going to determine your academic career. Where you end up teaching and what you end up teaching. If you used a fraction of the time you've been spending on this series next week on this paper, it would've been ready weeks ago."

Billy nods, and Sherlock knows instinctively that he doesn't need to say anything more. "I know you'll get it done. I won't be in on Friday, so you can e-mail it to me if that's easier."

"Thanks. Will do," Billy mutters, gathering his stuff and impolitely rushing out of there.

*

**SCENE 12. - EXT. SUFFOLK UNIVERSITY LIBRARY - TEN MINUTES LATER**

It's not until Billy gets to the big concrete steps that he feels the panic attack start in earnest. He'd planned this library session for right after his meeting with Sherlock so he could start on minor edits for his final chapter. But with the new sources he'll need to find and integrate into his text, not to mention the extreme reworking he'll need to do on the text as it stands, he feels too overwhelmed to set foot inside the building just now.

It's especially cold and windy today, the kind of cold that feels like sharp little teeth gnawing at Billy's cheeks. Still, he feels overheated. He pulls his gloves off and unbuttons his peacoat, sitting down on the cold concrete.

Perhaps it's not just the prospect of the edits that's bothering him. Sherlock's remarks about the HFA at least partially account for why Billy's blood feels like it's about to bubble right through his skin like lava. His advisor had been, for the most part, discreet about his thoughts on Billy's other commitments this semester, and Billy had been grateful. He knows that it's not just the amount of time he's been spending at the HFA but the nature of the work he's been spending time _on_ that poses a problem for Sherlock, the fucking prick bastard. Maybe it's paranoia, but Billy's certain there's a reason there are no queer films on any syllabus in any of the courses at Suffolk.

The semester before, Sherlock had claimed he was looking out for Billy's reputation as an academic, when really he had been doing his job as Chair of Cinema Studies to look out for the reputation of the department. Fucking uni politics.

Billy rests his elbows on his knees and ducks his head between them, trying to breathe deeply.

Doesn't Sherlock realize that Billy would have thrown himself into the fucking Charles by now if he didn't have the Queer series to keep him sane? Isn't it enough that he gave in to Sherlock's relentless insisting that he choose a more "traditional" topic for his dissertation? That he swallowed his pride and his passion to write about something that's, yes, important, and yes, beautiful, but that happened nearly a century ago now? Instead of writing something current, something a little more controversial (God forbid!), he's rehashing the same old shite that's been written for eighty years.

Billy rises to his feet and kicks the bannister hard. He curls both hands around the cold metal and leans his weight onto his arms, closing his eyes. He listens to the wind circling madly around his ears until he's able to feel like he's somewhere else entirely.

 


	9. Fic: Boston (13-14+/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time is not at all like the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last installment of _Boston_ for the next month, as I've got a couple of other projects with deadlines.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** The second time is not at all like the first.  
 **Note:** This will probably be the last installment of _Boston_ for the next month, as I've got a couple of other projects with deadlines.  


**SCENE 13. - INT. DOMINIC'S BEDROOM - THE NEXT AFTERNOON**

Laughter. Murmurs. A slam.

Those are the sounds of Orlando getting laid.

Well, those are the sounds that make it through Dominic's bedroom wall, anyway. And more accurately, they are the sounds of Orlando giving it up for free. It's incredible how quickly Dominic's learned the little differences between work and recreation. Although he's yet to know the differences firsthand, the wall between his room and Orli's has served as a blackboard of sorts for Business vs. Pleasure 101.

He retrieves his big digital camera from the closet and starts perusing his most recent session. The little _chirp chirp chirp_ of the search button is good at keeping him focused. He shuffles quickly through a series of unimpressive shots of Boston Common and sighs, impatient. He can't wait to get out of the city to shoot, if only for a day. The last time he was in Salem was almost a year ago, and he'll be much more prepared this time around.

He finds some close-ups of a squirrel eating the remains of a gyro wrapped in tin foil and smiles, his thumb slowing down. He doesn't even jump when Orli's headboard smacks against the wall, the mattress springs creaking loudly. He simply sighs, acknowledges _that was quick_ , and goes back to the earliest date on the memory card.

Dominic takes inventory, noting which creatures he's favored and which he's neglected in these last few months. Part of him wishes he could live in the country, or even one of the suburbs of Boston, so he had access to more wildlife. Not all his subjects are animals, but they are his favorite to shoot. They're graceful and interesting, and their only concern when he points his lens at them is whether or not he's going to steal their food.

When the floor under his bed starts to vibrate, he curses, stows his camera away quickly, and heads downstairs for a smoke.

*

**SCENE 14. - EXT. THE CORNER - TWO MINUTES LATER**

Dominic curses again the minute he steps outside, bunching his shoulders up to his ears. He rolls his eyes at himself. "Fucking hell." He's forgotten to put on his coat. He looks back up the staircase, holding the front door open, then, remembering Orlando's conquest, decides _fuck it_ and lets the heavy door fall shut, leaving him bare-armed in 30-degree weather.

His mouth trembles a little as he places a freshly-rolled fag between his lips. He pulls his silver lighter out frantically, looking positively foolish as he tries to find solace in its tiny flame.

When he uncrosses his eyes to snap the top shut, he sees Billy standing a few feet beyond the fire. The first thing Dominic notices is that he's not carrying his usual shoulderbag. The only time Dominic's seen him so _naked_ is when he's actually been naked.

Billy shoves his hands into the pockets of his peacoat and just looks at him, both puffing out clouds of smoke--Dominic from the cig, Billy from the cold.

A dangerous excitement stirs deep in Dominic's stomach and he tries very hard to stop trembling. "Hey, sweetheart." It comes out sounding much more startled than he would have liked.

Billy smiles a little and looks down at his feet, saying nothing. He doesn't know what he had been thinking showing up here again, and now that he's in the exact same place he was just two days ago, it feels too surreal. He thinks to himself that it is as if someone were watching a DVD of his life story and they just skipped back to the beginning of the previous chapter. He looks back up at Dominic, hoping he'll understand what he wants without him having to say it. Just like the last time.

Dominic's heart's pounding erratically, but he can't contain his smile. He puts out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe after only a couple of drags and pockets it, then heads in through the front door with a grateful sigh. He holds it open for Billy with two hands and he accepts it.

As they ascend the stairs, he can already feel his mouth tingling in anticipation of another taste.

*

**CLOSE-UP ON BILLY**

The muffled sounds of Orli's hookup provide an awkward soundtrack to the first moments of their second meeting. Billy pauses for just a moment in the kitchen to acknowledge the noise. Dominic smirks and shrugs, leading him into his bedroom down the hall.

As Dominic closes the door gingerly behind Billy, his inner voice chides, _Vacation my arse_. He twists the lock and clears his throat, turning to start the show. But before he can slip into his role, Billy has him backed against the door, one deft hand splayed over his stomach. Dominic looks at him, absolutely silent.

Billy's hand slides down, fingers catching in Dominic's belt to pull him forward, their hips colliding. His eyes are both wild and sad, much darker than Dominic remembered. "I want to fuck you," he breathes against his mouth, accent thick.

 _Yes, please_ is Dominic's first thought. Billy starts trailing vicious little bites down the side of his neck and his heart nearly stops. "Have we met?" he jokes, voice breathy and laced with shock.

"How much?" Billy presses on, palming Dominic's cock through his jeans.

Dominic reluctantly opens his eyes. It takes him a moment to realize he's been asked something. "Wh-wha?"

"How much?" Billy demands, hand pressing harder.

For all that he tries, Dominic can't help the little moan that escapes his open mouth. "Um." The appalling realization comes to him for just a second before he pushes it to the back of his mind, where it belongs: he doesn't _want_ to name a price. "Um."

Billy starts unbuckling Dominic's belt. "Don't think I can wait for an answer," he huffs into his ear.

Dominic reaches down, stilling his slender hands, noting the size difference between Billy's and his for a second time. Billy raises his head so that they are eye to eye, and Dominic reluctantly whispers the price to him. Billy reaches behind him with one hand to retrieve his wallet, and Dominic grabs his wrist forcefully. "Later. Don't stop." It all comes out in one quick breath and leaves Dominic blushing.

Billy looks down at his mouth for just a moment, pulling Dominic's belt from his jeans and tossing it onto the floor with a _clink-clank_. He gracefully shrugs out of his peacoat and pulls Dominic's t-shirt over his head, letting both items fall. He starts unbuttoning his own shirt, and Dominic's eyes follow his fingers, silently urging them to move faster.

Seeing Billy's teeth bite down on his lower lip as his shoulders struggle free does something to Dominic. Without thinking, he whispers "Can I...?," and, not waiting for an answer, falls to his knees, fumbling with Billy's zip. He pushes his denims all the way to the floor, pants just far down enough to engulf Billy in his mouth.

" _Fuck_ ," Billy falls forward, bracing his arms on the bedroom door. The result of this movement is sharp and startling for Dominic, but he moves with it greedily, head slightly retracted as he grips Billy's backside with both hands.

Dominic doesn't tease like last time; he already has a moist, relentless rhythm going, and Billy's thighs are already squirming against his cheeks.

"Dominic." For a moment, Billy sounds more like he did their first meeting. "You're... terrible at this."

He pulls off immediately, looking up at Billy with daggers in his eyes. "What was that?"

Somehow he's knocked onto his back on the carpet and Billy's straddling him, pulling the buttons on his fly apart like he's tearing a sheet of paper. Billy's eyes are fierce. "Isn't this supposed to be about what _I_ want?" Dominic flushes with shame as his jeans are pulled down and off. He can't believe he was so quick to forget himself.

Once Billy's completely rid of his own clothing, he lifts Dominic's thigh by the back of his knee and presses flush against him in a pale imitation of what they're about to do. Dominic tries very hard to breathe as he feels his heel come to rest on Billy's shoulder blade, Billy's cock nestled in the crevice of his ass.

Billy's mouth rests open against his clavicle, panting hot breath onto his skin. "D'you have...?"

Dominic pushes at Billy's shoulder with one hand so he can lift off the floor and reach into one of the drawers in the chest next to his head. He digs under sweaters and socks for a condom and lube, both brand new courtesy of his trip to the pharmacy earlier in the week. He presses both into Billy's palm and lays back, arms at his sides, fingernails already digging into the carpet in anticipation.

Looking over Billy's shoulder, he realizes with a smirk that they've barely made it into the bedroom. A slick, efficient finger wriggles inside him, and he closes his eyes, breathing in and out slowly. Usually about this time--that is if the asshole fucking him is considerate enough to be doing this bit at all--Dominic has already started moaning and arching his back. He'll typically look at the client and lick his lips, thickening his accent around such phrases as _tha's good, yeah_ or _harder, i can take it_ or _can't wait for your cock._ Now he's discovering how infinitely easier it is to feign pleasure than to bite it back.

"Eyes open, Dominic," he hears Billy say as he slides in a second finger. "I'll be so offended if you don't watch." The request has none of the cheek it had coming out of Dominic's own mouth just three days before.

Dominic looks at the ceiling before his gaze obediently finds Billy. Just as he expected, the sight is too much. His debauched little pixie, mossy eyes wicked and greedy, shoulder working as his slender wrist twists into something Dominic can't see from where he's laying. He grips the carpet and remains silent.

When Billy stutters and presses into him, though, he can't help but groan _Aw fuck_. It overlaps with Billy's own breathy _Shite_. This is the first time since Dominic's started the job that having someone inside him has felt _good_. He barely has time to register this, though, before Billy starts moving gracefully and _good_ becomes _fucking incredible_. It's instantly clear that he hasn't done this in a while, though Dominic definitely wouldn't have put his money on three years. After just a few thrusts, though, his confidence has surfaced full-force and Dominic's body is shocked by the sheer strength of him.

Billy's a small man, but Dominic sees that he's made of muscle and fury when he wants to be. Dominic can't help but picture him brawling in a pub; it's not difficult. Behind that unraveling intelligence in his eyes, he can also see pure instinct, and he wonders how Billy was raised, what kind of childhood he had.

Still, there's something inexplicably _sweet_ about Billy fucking him. His warmth, his breathy little _unh unh unh_ noises, the intermittent sensation of Billy filling him, his hips snug against the backs of his thighs, then retreating. He is equal parts hard and soft, and not just physically.

Billy's clever little tongue works its way along his chest, and Dominic hesitantly lifts one hand from the carpet and brings it to tangle in the hair at the crown of his head. Billy glides forward and bites the underside of his jaw in response. He lifts up a bit, picking up the pace ever-so-slightly, and Dominic absently thinks to himself that Billy looks bloody _gorgeous_ when he's fucking. It sounds stupid, but to see someone so neat and clean all flushed, disheveled, and trembling with need--there's no other word for it.

He pulls out completely and fills him again, hitting Dominic's insides at just the right angle to make his body shudder. Billy smiles and does it again, the precise little fuck. Dominic lets out a strangled gasp, gripping Billy's biceps in the vain hope of steadying himself. Billy stays inside this time, rocking into that spot again and again, and Dominic just thinks _fuck it_ , his arms falling back to the carpet.

As he keeps up this tiny but unbearable movement, Billy dips his head down to whisper shakily, "You feel good too, Dom."

Dominic clenches his eyes shut and realizes with embarrassment that he's started wheezing. _Fucking cold._ Above him, Billy has started moaning in earnest, deep beautiful melodic sounds coming from the back of his throat and working their way out. Dominic tenses every muscle in his body, and Billy groans, "Jesus fucking _Christ_ ," reaching one hand down to wrap around Dominic's cock, the other bracing himself against the carpet.

At the feeling of Billy's warm, somewhat damp fingers around him, Dominic gasps loud and unabashed. It's the first time in over two years that somebody fucking him has been concerned with him getting off. He nearly sobs with gratitude for the friction, wrapping one of his hands around Billy's to move with it at a hard, erratic pace. What undoes him is Billy leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, urging him (or thanking him, he can't decide) with a simple, " _Dominic._ " In a flash, he's coming all over both their hands and his stomach.

He lifts his free hand to tangle in Billy's hair again, forcing his gaze on his when he comes. When Billy trembles and collapses on him, his chest hair tickles his oversensitive skin and Dominic finally registers the rugburn they've made on his back. Coming down from his orgasm, a rarity in these meetings, Dominic has a mild panic attack. _What the fuck was that?_

He instantly falls into a coughing fit, and Billy is forced to lift up and out of him, rolling onto his back beside him. He still fights to catch his breath, looking at Dominic with concern. Dominic sits up, his one dry hand curled into a fist in front of his mouth. He feels but doesn't see Billy get up off the floor. He returns a moment later, condom discarded and a bunch of tissues springing from his hand.

Dominic accepts them gratefully, using most of them to clean himself up. He rises from the carpet weakly, Billy watching his every step to the basin next to the bedside table. He can only imagine how ridiculous he must look, pacing the room completely naked, hacking as if he had the plague. But his throat is fucking killing him, so he doesn't care. He reaches for the bottle of water perched on the bedside table and downs half of it.

Catching his breath, he shuffles back over to Billy, falling down beside him on the floor again.

"Alright, then?" He smiles, patting Dominic on the back.

He nods, clearing his throat.

"Are you sick?"

"Getting there," Dominic laughs.

"...Why didn't you say no?"

Dominic shrugs. "I don't get sick days." Before he can protest, Billy's leading him back over to the bed. He wants to say _Need a shower_ but he's too tired. And he doesn't want Billy to leave just yet.

He lays on his roughed-up back with a grateful _Nnh_ , and Billy flops down beside him, staring at the ceiling.

After a long silence, he speaks. "Were you ever an actor, Dom?"

Dominic realizes belatedly that Billy's now comfortable shortening his name. "No. Why?"

"I don't know," Billy smiles. "The way you draw attention. Your ability to morph."

He shrugs, not really understanding but enjoying the attention.

"I mean," Billy starts, playing with a loose thread on the duvet. "I imagine there's some element of performance in this."

"Yeah," Dominic admits, not meeting his eyes. "Sometimes."

Billy closes his eyes, breathing. "Sorry. I'll be out of your hair in a minute."

"No rush," Dominic insists, reaching into the bedside drawer for papers and tobacco. "Orli's an actor. Or at least he was." When he lays his prizes out on his stomach, Billy rests a palm over his knuckles.

"Don't do that."

Dominic would ordinarily say _Fuck off_ but the gentle lack of expectation in Billy's request makes him purse his lips and obey.

Without warning, Billy hoists himself off the bed, the mattress springs creaking in his absence. As he pulls his clothes back on, Dominic tries to listen for any sounds coming from Orli's room but hears none. Billy shuffles back over to the bed and places a stack of bills gingerly next to the lamp. He shoves his wallet into his back pocket and sits at the foot of the bed by Dominic's feet, pulling on his shoes. When he's done tying them, he sighs, turning a bit and laying a hand over Dominic's ankle. He looks at him pointedly. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," Dominic laughs, coughing a bit again.

Billy lowers his eyes, flushing a bit before he stands and works at his shirt, his back to the bed. His peacoat is on and buttoned up too soon, and he gives Dominic a shy little wave before he disappears through the bedroom door.

Dominic turns his head and looks over at the green paper with a frown. _What the fuck_ was _that?_

He crawls to the other side of the bed, pulls out the blue book and a pen, and writes.

 

 


	10. Fic: Boston (15 & 16/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy celebrates handing in his dissertation, and Dominic takes pictures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so good to be back. Love to all who've stuck with me over the past month.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Billy celebrates handing in his dissertation, and Dominic takes pictures.  
 **Note:** It's so good to be back. Love to all who've stuck with me over the past month.  


 

**SCENE 15. - INT. THE GREEN DRAGON TAVERN - FRIDAY EVENING**

"So what was your big paper about?" A friend of one of Lij's friends leans into Billy, and he gets a whiff of her flowery perfume. It smells a bit like what his grandmother used to wear, and for that reason he answers the girl's lean with one of his own.

"Ehm..." Billy smiles, narrowing his eyes. He still can't get over the fact that he's having a conversation about his dissertation in the past tense. It feels _wrong_ ; he still needs to pass his defense, after all. "German expressionism." Her eyebrows raise over big blue eyes. "It was this big film movement in the twenties."

From this moment on, Billy goes on autopilot. He's been living and breathing this project for the past year and a half or more, so at this point it's second nature. But there is something different about his voice just now. Since clicking "Send" on that e-mail to Sherlock at 8:14am (Billy'd wanted to enjoy his Friday, after all), he's felt lighter, as if two layers of his skin have been peeled off. Even though it would have been much more gratifying handing a pristine printed copy of those corrected pages to Sherlock in person, Billy's center of gravity has nonetheless shifted from his stomach to his chest. While he's gotten used to talking about his paper with undertones of exasperation and anxiety, he speaks about it now with increasing contented distance.

He throws out examples of some of the films he focused on in his paper, and the girl he's talking to--Maeve? Maude?--shakes her head helplessly at each one. "Sorry, I don't think I've seen anything that was made before 1980," she deadpans.

Billy smiles and waves a hand dismissively. "Eh, it's all rubbish before then anyway. Not really worth it, if you ask me."

Maeve/Maude laughs and fiddles with her girly drink glass.

Lij catches Billy's eye across the table and shakes his head. Billy feigns ignorance. He understands, though, that the girl fancies him and that he's indulging her. It happens more often than he'd like to admit. Lij says it's because he's not _obvious_ enough--men and women alike assume he's straight, and "how the fuck do you expect to get any ass that way?"

Quite frankly, Billy doesn't "give two shits" (as Lij himself would say) what impression he's giving, especially not tonight. Besides being nearly done with the greatest burden of his academic career, he can say that he is particularly secure in his homosexuality at the moment, because just two nights ago he had some very gay sex. Some _very amazing_ , very gay sex. And while the circumstances perhaps weren't ideal, the act itself was _fucking incredible_. In fact, Billy's still having trouble believing it actually happened, that he actually marched into that room and enacted some filthy erotic fantasy he must have been harboring since he was fourteen without even knowing it. Who _was_ that, that man who took what he wanted with such confidence, such thoughtlessness? Billy hadn't been him in so long, he'd forgotten that he existed.

And Dominic. _Dom._ Billy's stomach flips in an intoxicating way as he tries to keep up with the-girl-with-the-M-name's questions. He suddenly and acutely wishes Dominic were here, filling the empty space to his left. He should be here, after all--he, more than anyone at this table, made a real contribution to Billy's dissertation. That second time with him had really given Billy the push he'd needed to get those final edits done. Leaving Dominic's flat that night, he'd felt changed, capable of anything, like all the crap between him and the department just didn't matter at all anymore.

That feeling has managed to stick, too. The air tonight, just starting to turn into something horrible and unforgiving-- _another Boston winter, with any luck my last_ , Billy thinks to himself with a sigh--has him feeling renewed and alive rather than beaten down.

He'd almost made a joke to Elijah not fifteen minutes before about including Dominic in his Acknowledgements. But then he'd remembered that he hadn't told Lij about their second time together yet. He's enjoying the delay too much, and he'd like to keep the secret close to him for just a bit longer.

As Billy half-consciously explains the theatricality of German expressionism and its connection to World War I, he mentally fills the empty chair beside him with Dominic's lovely little frame. He simply inserts the remembered image of him from the Chinese place (only without all the takeout cartons, of course), quiet and hunched over, tripping nervous fingers over his leather bands. He wonders if it's even a likely scenario, Dominic being here. Does he hang out in these ubiquitous Irish pubs? Does he "hang out" at all, or does he only exist on that corner, in that bedroom? Despite confirmation from Elijah that he _is real_ , Billy still sometimes suspects that he's imagined the whole thing.

The silly thing about it is, when he thinks about why he went, the first time anyway, all he can remember is needing a change in his routine. He had gotten so used to the sheer solitude of his day-to-day life: teaching class, running the reels at the HFA, going to the library to work on his dissertation. From the classroom to the projection booth to his carrel to his bed, it had been 24 hours of isolation nearly 7 days a week. Stepping through the library doors that Sunday night, he'd felt the pressure of that ever-present time crunch, making the very sky feel like a wall. But as he breathed in the cold air, he suddenly remembered that there was a whole world outside of that tiny space he occupied. He thought for one brief, calm moment that if he stepped out of his self-imposed prison for just a second, maybe time would stop and he could pretend that every fiber of him wasn't driving toward this deadline. And it did stop; just not until he'd reached Dominic's bedroom.

Billy feels himself flush and he loses his train of thought.

M-Girl looks at him with a sympathetic, amused smile. "God, you must be exhausted. I'm sorry I even asked."

He shakes his head in exasperation and excuses himself politely, relocating to his original spot beside Elijah. He unceremoniously grabs Lij's burger off his plate, groaning, " _Food_ ," and takes a huge bite.

Lij smacks him hard on the knuckles until he drops it. "Hey! Just because you're a doctor now doesn't mean you can steal other people's shit!"

"'S not _shit_ ," Billy imitates his friend's crass accent through a mouthful of food. "It's a burger." He swallows and gives Lij a boyish smile.

Lij claps him on the back as if to say, _It's alright, I don't really mind. You've earned it._ He takes another sip of his Heineken and leans into Billy's ear. "You'd better watch yourself there, you charming little bastard."

Billy ducks his head and smiles wide. "Yeah, yeah."

"I'm telling you, you're not obvious enough."

He rolls his eyes and picks at Lij's fries.

"I'm serious! The world needs to know you're out for the cock."

" _I_ know I'm out for the cock. And if the world doesn't realize it, it can go fuck itself then." He bites a fry violently in two.

Lij's focus returns to his plate of food. "C'mon, Bill, I haven't eaten all day," he whines.

"Sorry, mine hasn't come yet." Billy wipes his salty fingers on his trousers.

"What'd you get?"

"Irish Breakfast," Billy exhales as he leans his head on Elijah's shoulder. "My father'll be rolling in his grave."

"There you go," Lij wraps one arm around Billy's shoulders and works at his food and drink with the other. "This kind of public man-on-man affection is a step in the right direction."

Billy nods against the material of Lij's sweater and lets his eyes fall shut. He realizes that he hasn't had any coffee today and he's flagging. He appreciates Lij's insistence that he celebrate his accomplishment, but he just doesn't want to be here tonight. Now that he's free to roam beyond those exclusive little spheres of space he's occupied for the past year and a half, he finds that all he wants--at least for the next few days--is to sit in some quiet little coffee shop somewhere alone.

_Or..._

The sneaky man who runs the incessantly glowing projector in his head has even managed to insert Dominic into that fantasy. Behind Billy's eyelids, he's sitting in one of those big, plush chairs in Starbucks. Dominic is perched gorgeously on the arm beside him, one leather-clad limb resting along the back above the spread of Billy's hair. Billy reaches up and rests a palm on Dominic's thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth methodically as they soak in each other's silence.

*

**SCENE 16. - EXT. BOSTON COMMON - FRIDAY EVENING**

The sun is beginning to fade, and Dominic is clicking furiously.

He doesn't usually shoot at night, but he'd felt like he was drying up from the inside out, holed up in his tiny flat all day. Besides, the Common always has enough artificial light to make it worthwhile.

Just as Dominic takes a moment to warm his hands in his pockets, a chipmunk darts out from under a street vendor cart and his eyes flash longingly after it. He doesn't even try to capture it--he knows he's not quick enough for the little bugger. Instead, he tilts his camera upward and takes his time steadying his fingers. The early evening sky is doing beautiful things between the tree branches above him.

Somewhere vaguely behind him, he hears groups of uni students starting the weekend in different ways: on their way to dinner, making plans for a club for later that night, heading to South Station to visit home, crossing the street to go to the movies. The lens closes and opens in front of his left eye and he cherishes his own solitude.

He ventures further into the greenery, away from the noise of the crowds.

It feels unbearably good to him, being on hiatus--almost as if he's leading someone else's life. Or, rather, like he's _been_ leading someone else's life for the past two years and is just now finally getting back to himself. He's been making lots of plans: shooting (of course), seeing monuments, assorted cultural outings. Mostly alone. In his heart of hearts, Dominic prefers his own company more than anyone else's. Whenever he's spent a good, solid block of time with anyone, no matter how much he enjoys being with them, he inevitably starts to feel itchy. As strange as it sounds, he loves that feeling of wholeness he gets when they finally walk away from him.

Tomorrow, he'll go see the Jim Lambie exhibit over at the MFA. He remembers offhandedly that Lambie's Scottish, and wonders if Billy knows who he is--not personally, but if he's familiar with his work. Perhaps Billy's seen the exhibit already, if he's that kind of guy.

_I'm such a twelve year-old._

Dominic shakes his head at himself and follows a row of ducks along the pond. The fading light renders them mere silhouettes, which he captures from different angles and distances.

As much as he's enjoying himself and feeling productive, though, he is slightly unfocused. He can't stop imagining running into Billy again, like that night after Paradise. For the past two hours, his gaze has strayed from his camera and its subjects countless times, lingering on any man of Billy's stature wearing his coat. (He'd never realized until today just how many men in Boston have that same standard black peacoat.) Every corner he's turned, his eyes have preceded him, wide in unwarranted anticipation.

Subconsciously, there is a reason he came back to the Common. It's right in the middle of Downtown Boston, quite literally in the center of everything. If you stay there the entire day, it's likely you'll run into half the people you know in the city. He knows it's foolish to try to manufacture a chance encounter, but he can't help himself. As he turns on his heels and heads back in the direction of Starbucks, Dominic shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pictures some of the possible scenarios again.

1\. Billy is an accountant at a law firm on Tremont Street. He bursts out of work at 6:15, relatively early for a Friday, and saunters sluggishly through the Common toward the Red Line. Tired and oblivious, he almost literally stumbles over Dominic, who is crouched down on the path taking pictures. "Hello there," he laughs, a little breathless.

2\. Billy is a calculus teacher at a local public high school. After stopping in one of the pubs in Government Center with his colleagues for a much-needed drink, he and a couple of the foreign language teachers wander happily toward the restaurants on Boylston. As they pass a vendor, Billy spots Dominic crossing the street and breaks off from the trio's lively conversation. "Dom?!" he shouts brightly, his mouth tugging up at the corners.

3\. Billy's father owns the pub next to Starbucks. Billy sits at a high table by the front window, calculating the week's earnings. Something's not adding up quite right, and he frowns, rubbing circles into his temples with his tiny fingers. He pauses and takes a sip of his pint, raising his eyes to the view outside. In that moment, he notices Dominic, who then notices him back and stops in his quick stride. They both smile, and Billy motions for Dominic to come inside.

Dominic can't decide why math always seems to be a part of Billy's imagined professions.

It's beyond silly, but he feels a sliver of disappointment when he pushes through the big green door at Starbucks and none of these scenarios have yet come to fruition.

He continues to conjure up situations while waiting in line. Dominic's the one who's part of a "subculture," you could say, but Billy's the true mystery at this point. Still, Dominic doesn't understand why he should fascinate him so much; Billy hasn't revealed any less than most of his clients. He has regulars who've been seeing him for months who he doesn't know as well.

As much as he's considered it, he has no idea whether or not Billy will become a regular. He's replayed every moment of their last meeting in his head (not a difficult task), trying to remember if Billy gave any indication that there would be a next time. He particularly harps on that final look in his eyes as he slipped through the door.

Dominic sits at a table by the window with his cider and decides that he's lost most if not all of the power in this relationship. And the fact that he's thinking about a client he's only been with twice in terms of a _relationship_ of any kind only works to cement that decision. He sniffles and spreads his fingers along the sides of the cup, waiting for his skin to warm.

 

 


	11. Fic: Boston (17 & 18/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominic and Orlando go to the movies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay again. This time I can assure you that the next update will be within the next week or two, since it's already written.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Dominic and Orlando go to the movies.  
 **Note:** So sorry for the delay again. This time I can assure you that the next update will be within the next week or two, since it's already written.  


  
  
**Marlene Dietrich, _Morocco_**   


**SCENE 17. - INT. HARVARD FILM ARCHIVE - TUESDAY EVENING**

Dominic walks briskly through the aisle in search of good seats, Orlando practically hopping along at his heels. He stops on a dime about halfway down and narrows his eyes, scanning the auditorium. Orli places a firm hand at the small of his back and leans into him, pointing at an empty pair on the far aisle directly across the room.

"There?"

Dominic purses his lips and nods. "Could do worse, yeah."

They quickly make their way around the back row to the other side, claiming their seats with a collective sigh. The film doesn't start for another ten minutes and the archive is nearly packed.

Dominic opens his program and happily peruses the list of films lined up for this series. He's never been to the HFA before, but their latest ad in _The Globe_ was impossible to ignore, with its oh-so-subtle bright rainbow flag. He'd cringed at first, but the series description intrigued him enough to make him buy two tickets and rope Orli into going. He figures it'll be a nice addition to all the cultural exploring he's been doing over the past few days.

Orli leans into him suddenly, voice full of mirth. "Looks like we're in the minority here, mate."

Dominic raises his eyes from the leaflet to take a look at the rest of the audience and smiles. Almost all lesbians and a few FTM transgendereds, just as expected. "Well, it _is_ Dietrich." His eyes dart around at the other patrons again and he suddenly feels a bit uncomfortable. He can instantly tell that most of the people here are what he terms _supergays_ \--gay people who live solely amongst other gay people in the gay community doing gay things. Dominic understands that need, the need to define oneself by it and create an identity from it, but it's never been him. His sexuality is just one part of him, and it's always been that way.

Orli, on the other hand, tends to get a bit _supergay_ from time to time--probably why he agreed to come see the film tonight--but Dominic is proud to say that he's got a talent for yanking him back into the real world when necessary.

Dominic returns to the little introductory blurb in the program just as someone approaches the podium at the front. _In the Closet: Queer Hollywood in the Classical Era. Curated by Professor William Boyd, Suffolk University. Opening Night: Josef von Sternberg's **Morocco**._

A moment or two passes, and someone clears their throat at the microphone. "Good evening. Welcome to our final series of 2008, 'In the Closet: Queer Hollywood in the Classical Era.'"

Dominic has to raise himself off his seat a bit to see the tiny, well-dressed woman of about sixty who speaks at the podium. He returns his eyes to the program, still keeping her voice in the back of his consciousness. His eyes jump down to Boyd's tiny bio at the bottom of the page and read along as she introduces him. Orlando leans almost completely into Dominic's lap as the audience applauds the curator. A contingent of young students up front shouts loudly for him and Orli laughs under his breath.

Suddenly his palm is heavy on Dominic's thigh. " _Hel-lo_ , Professor."

Dominic smirks, eyes still on the program, but his smile instantly fades when he hears the curator's voice.

"Alright, that's enough now," Professor Boyd chides the undergrads up front.

Dominic looks up and gasps, grabbing Orlando's hand forcefully. "Billy," he whispers.

" _Ow_ ," Orlando complains, wrenching his hand away. "What?"

Dominic smacks him on the arm insistently. " _Billy_." He gestures up front.

Orli looks up. " _No_." He leans into Dominic's lap to take a quick look at his program. _Professor William Boyd_ , he mouths. "Are you sure?" Dominic just shoots him a look, then returns his eyes to the front, where they remain glued.

Billy-- _Professor Boyd_ , Dominic thinks to himself with equal parts awe, joy, and shame--is fucking gorgeous, standing there in a crisp sage green button-down shirt and tweed blazer. He's let his facial hair grow in a bit, and looks almost completely transformed as a result. Older, more confident.

It is as if Orlando has read his mind. "He looks different than he did that night," he muses in a half-whisper.

"Well," Dominic starts, keeping completely still. "You were also fucking annihilated that night." He tunes back into Billy, thankful they didn't sit so close and will probably go undetected by him.

"This series is nearly three years in the making," Billy smiles, his face lighting up. "It started as a conversation over drinks with a friend," he indicates the older woman--Sheryl something--who has just taken her seat again, "and somehow snowballed into this wonderful... _thing_." He gives a playful little shrug. "I just want to say, first of all, how happy we are with the turnout tonight. This is my first series here at the HFA as curator, and I'm grateful that there's been so much interest in it." Billy leans over the podium on his elbows, somehow managing to create a sense of intimacy between him and the large audience.

Where he's been a bit of an emotional wreck in the bedroom, here he looks so proud and purposeful. Dominic recognizes that he's seeing Billy in his element. The way he stands and gestures, rubbing at his scruff with his fingertips from time to time, the way his eyes spark. Even the cadence of his voice is different--lower, so clear and sure. Dominic can't help but be entranced, filing every moment of Billy's speech away as if he were taking a succession of photographs. _If only_ , Dominic thinks, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

"Bloody _Christ_ he looks good," Orli exhales in a whisper.

Dominic nods distractedly, trying his best to catch every word, his stomach twisting and turning over the syllables on the heels of Billy's accent.

Orlando leans his head on Dominic's shoulder and sighs in mock devotion. Dominic pushes him off by the side of his face and shoots him a good-natured glare before returning his eyes to the front.

"Of course the main reason for tonight's film is its leading lady. Dietrich was an openly bisexual actor and still remains one of the foremost icons in the gay community. She's perhaps best known now for her penchant for crossdressing, and her most famous crossdressing scene is the centerpiece of _Morocco_. It's interesting to see, in all of Dietrich's films, how these scenes fit, or don't fit, into the heterosexual Hollywood love story that's taking place in the main plot. What significance do these performances have? What do they mean for Dietrich's character and her relationship with the leading man? Why include them in the films at all, really?" Billy regains his posture. "These are all things we'll discuss after the screening."

"What are the odds?" Dominic's still in such a state of shock that he doesn't realize he's said it out loud.

Orlando turns to him. "Are you going to say hello?"

"No," Dominic replies immediately. "I don't want to make him uncomfortable or anything."

After Billy is finished with his introduction, he leaves the podium to more applause, which turns to excited murmurs. Dominic follows him with his eyes and, to his dismay, Billy meets his gaze, smiles warmly, and walks briskly toward him.

"Fuck." Dominic quickly folds up the program and practically throws it in Orlando's lap.

As the lights are beginning to dim, Billy crouches down next to Dominic's seat.

"Well, well. Professor William Boyd." Dominic manages to keep the nerves out of his voice.

"Looks like my cover is blown, then." Billy shoves his shoulder playfully. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, look at the topic, mate. I think you drew every poof in New England."

Billy cackles, then turns his attention to Orlando, offering his hand. "Not sure if you remember me."

Orli giggles, shoving the program aside. "Barely!" He shakes Billy's hand with enthusiasm. "I was a bit out of it that night, sorry."

"How did you see us from up there?" Dominic wonders aloud, fussing with his rings.

Billy's eyes change as they return to him. "I'm a teacher. I can find anyone in a room." He ruffles Dominic's hair. "Especially this mop."

The lights are almost completely off, and Dominic already feels the loss of that brilliant green stare.

"Ehm." Billy whispers. "I'm meeting with Elijah at this thing after. You both should come."

"Yeah, sounds great," Orlando answers for the two of them. "I haven't seen Lij in a couple of months."

"Excellent. Enjoy the film," Billy stage whispers into the dark before patting Dominic's thigh and returning to his seat up front.

Orlando smiles, leaning into a breathless Dominic. "You're fucked. Totally and utterly fucked!"

Dominic lets out a shaky sigh in response and tries very hard to focus on the screen.

The film is wonderful, and the audience is perhaps a bit inappropriately responsive, but no one seems to mind. There are loud cheers when Dietrich first appears in her tux and tails, and even louder cheers when she plants a kiss on an unsuspecting female audience member after her cabaret number.

Despite his wandering eyes (he can see just the crown of Billy's head in the front row), Dominic manages to keep up with most of the plot--not that it's all that important, anyway. By the time the film is nearing its end, however, it has his full attention, and for a moment he can almost forget that Billy's there at all.

The lights come up to appreciative but slightly tired applause, and Billy approaches the podium again with a look of mischief on his face. He rests his chin on his hand and looks out at the audience, as if expecting _them_ to lead the discussion. A few of his students laugh and he turns to them and winks.

Dominic slouches in his seat, warmth spreading low in his stomach.

Finally, a few hands go up, and the audience gives a collective sigh of relief. Billy stands up straight, his eyes bright. He points to someone near the front. "Yes."

Dominic can't seem to keep track of any of the questions or even Billy's answers. He focuses on Billy's hands curling around the sides of the podium and his skin tingles. His eyes lock on that miraculous little mouth and he can almost feel Billy's breath on his neck, against his face.

His eyes fall shut of their own accord. _"You feel good too, Dom."_ Dominic runs his fingertips along the inseam of his denims. _This has to happen again_ , he thinks. _This has to happen._

Beside him, Orli clears his throat with purpose, and Dominic's eyes fly open just a little too late to stop his own personal nightmare from happening. His friend's hand is already straight up in the air, long and proud, and Billy has already noticed.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you," Dominic mutters just as Billy calls on Orlando.

"My question's a bit off-topic. A bit more personal." Orlando shifts in his seat coyly.

Billy pulls a playful _Oh really?_ face, and the audience giggles. "Go on, then. Don't keep me in suspense now." He leans all the way across the top of the podium, resting his chin on his hand.

"I was wondering what interested you in the topic of this series."

Dominic grabs a fistful of Orli's side, but Orli somehow remains quietly attentive through the pain.

"Is that your subtle way of asking me about my sexual orientation?" Billy's eyes shift nearly imperceptibly to Dominic before returning to Orlando. "Just to clear things up, I'm queer. Very queer."

Dominic releases Orli and focuses all of his attention on the carpet in the aisle as his cheeks overheat, a smile threatening to curl across his face.

*

**SCENE 18. - INT. MIRACLE OF SCIENCE BAR & GRILL - HALF AN HOUR LATER**

Billy enters the front door and, after a quick glance around, heads straight for the bar. The local MIT pub is, thankfully, completely bereft of undergrads. It is also, however, crawling with Elijah types, transfers from the band's show.

Lij is at a corner booth in the back talking to who Billy assumes is the band, if the graphic tees and neckties are any indication. It's loud, so Elijah's opted for his notepad rather than his mini tape recorder. He leans across the table scrawling fervently, his eyes intense as he nods at a gesticulating band member.

Before Billy can order a drink, he quickly turns to make sure that Dominic and Orlando are still at his heels. Dominic has already settled himself into the seat next to him, while Orlando stands behind Dominic, leaning over his shoulder to check out the chalkboard list of beers on tap.

"Oi!" Dominic protests as Orli's weight presses him flush against the side of the bar.

"Oh, don't act like you've never been in such a compromising position before," Orlando humps his back playfully.

Dominic immediately flushes, glancing at Billy as he smacks Orlando back into the chair on his other side. He sneezes once, twice.

Billy eases out of his peacoat and drapes it over the back of his chair. He takes a glance at the bartender a couple of yards away before leaning smoothly across the dark wood to snatch a bunch of napkins. When he settles into his chair and hands them to Dominic, their eyes meet and his stomach vibrates as he remembers making a similar gesture the last time they were together. The same deja vu registers in Dominic's eyes and he flushes deeper, turning his face into the napkins to blow his nose.

Billy rests a hand on his back. "How's your cold?"

"Better. Thank you." Dominic crumples up the napkins and shoves them into his jeans pocket. "Almost gone, actually."

After the bartender takes their drink orders, Billy rolls up his sleeves with a big, content sigh. Dominic glances at his bared forearms, then goes back to concentrating on his rings. He stares hard at the battered silver without really seeing it. He can sense Billy's eyes on him, making his entire left side feel naked. Finally, when he can no longer stand the tension, he turns to Billy with raised eyebrows.

"You're quiet," Billy observes, a smile toying at the corners of his mouth.

Dominic smiles sheepishly. "I'm all intimidated now. A professor." There is weight and wonder in his voice.

Billy shakes his head adamantly. " _No_ , not a professor. Not yet, anyway."

But Dominic can hear in his voice that it's going to happen, and soon. "You were a professor just now, I saw you."

"Big fucking class too," Billy laughs, still thrumming with leftover nerves.

"I thought it was fantastic," Orlando chimes in just as their drinks arrive.

Billy moves to pull his wallet from his jeans, but Dominic is quicker, laying one hand over his and paying for all three of them with the other.

"Thanks, mate," Orli says without a thought.

"What's this now?" Billy looks at Dominic with a tiny inquisitive smile.

"Congratulations on a job well done," he explains, then clinks the bottom of his glass against the top of Billy's. "You really were fantastic."

"Thanks," Billy answers brightly, taking a sip of his whiskey. "I should hope so. I've been working my arse off on it for months now."

"And what have we here, Billy boy?" Elijah suddenly materializes behind them.

The three turn to him as much as they can with a collective booming, " _Hey!_ "

He claps Billy on the back. "How'd it go?"

"Fantastic," Orlando and Dominic answer before Billy can open his mouth.

"How was the band?" Billy lowers his voice just a bit.

Lij's eyes widen. "Good. Really, really good. They've got this avant-garde, revolutionary thing going on. Sort of postmodern electronica...?" He searches for the right words.

Billy is utterly amused by the perplexed and somewhat annoyed expression on Dominic's face.

After a few more adjectives, Lij breaks out of his reverie. "Really good, though. Sorry, I didn't even give you guys a proper hello. Hey, Dom." They shake hands. "Good to see you."

"I deserve an _im_ proper hello." Orlando has swiveled himself fully around to face Lij.

Elijah's smile looks like it could break his face. "Hello!" He launches himself into Orlando's lap and licks his cheek. Orli bursts out laughing and they finally hug properly, speaking in hushed tones.

Dominic and Billy give each other a look, then return to their drinks.

"So." Dominic runs his fingertips along the rim of his glass.

"So." Billy turns to him.

"So... you're not really a closeted married man."

Billy shakes his head, smiling into another sip of whiskey. "No, 'm afraid not. Just a doctoral student who hasn't had a moment to himself in a very long time."

"How long have you been here?"

"The States?" Dominic nods. "About... six years now. Boston, only four and a half. I was in New York before then, until I started my program here."

"What did you do in The Big Apple?"

Billy takes a sizable sip of his drink and thinks for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Mostly crawled through it helplessly like a worm."

Dominic turns to him, amused and intrigued, trying to picture New York Billy.

"Sorry," he laughs. "I barely know you and I'm talking in fucking metaphors already." He rubs the bridge of his nose. "It's been a long couple of weeks." He emerges from the gesture renewed. "How did _you_ , ehm..."

Dominic raises his eyebrows expectantly. He's going to enjoy torturing the question out of Billy.

"Ehm." Billy furrows his brow.

"You just spoke to an auditorium full of people and now you're bashful?"

Billy giggles, pressing a hand over his eyes. "Alright, I'll be blunt then. How did you get into your line of work?"

Dominic bites his lip, suppressing laughter. "That wasn't very blunt, Billy."

"Fuck off. I'm trying." He nudges Dominic's shoulder with his.

Dominic stares down at his own hands as they slide his glass of Killian's back and forth, creating a messy oval of condensation on the wood. It's been a while since he's told this story, and even longer since he's told it in detail. He's not prepared to go into detail with Billy just now. Besides, he's developing this eerie feeling that this is just their first of what will be many get-to-know-you conversations. He inhales deeply. "I left home when I was sixteen. Didn't finish school. Came here to stay with a cousin in Needham, worked a few odd jobs just to pay my way. But he eventually moved back home, and... I didn't want to go back, but I was fucking broke. So I came to the city. Thought there'd be more opportunity here." He pauses, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Turns out I was right." He gives Billy a sly little smile, regaining some of the confidence he'd had weeks ago, when they first met.

"Have you thought of going back to school at all?" Billy chooses his words and tone very carefully; the last thing he wants is to offend Dominic.

"I got my equivalency, I'm actually eligible to go to uni. I can't go the traditional route, though, if you know what I mean." Billy doesn't, but he doesn't press the issue. "I've been taking courses here and there at Bunker Hill. But mostly, I want to do photography." Dominic's entire face brightens, his eyes going a deep blue as they turn up at the corners.

Billy nods with an encouraging smile, remembering the magazine left on Dominic's bed that first time.

"I'm taking this digital course at the Y in Brighton. Bit of a trek, but it's worth it."

It pleases Billy in an inexplicable way that their passions are in the same realm. "Have you ever learned to shoot on film?"

"No." Dominic's voice oozes with regret. "They don't really have the facilities at the Y, unfortunately. I'm saving up to take it at Emerson or... maybe even Harvard?" He looks at Billy with some apprehension.

" _Yeah_ , that'd be great," Billy replies without hesitation. "They have an Extension School. I took a, ehm, German theatre course there. For my dissertation. It was fantastic. You should definitely look into that."

A silence that is both awkward and exciting falls over them.

Before Dominic can summon the courage to open his mouth again, Elijah works his way between them, a test tube in each hand. "Kamikaze shots!"

Billy huffs out a laugh. He hadn't realized before how drunk Lij already was.

Dominic eyes the clear, fizzy concoction with skepticism. "I don't know about this."

"Free alcohol! I'm on board." Billy accepts the tube and raises his eyes to Dominic's with an enticing smile. "Come on, Dom. Don't make me drink this shite alone."

That's all it takes for Dominic to grudgingly accept the other shot. The two American transplants clink tubes and toss back the liquid. Dominic grimaces, handing the empty glass back to Elijah without a word, and Billy groans, "Oh fuck, that's vile, Lij." Dominic quickly reaches for his Killian's to wash the too-sweet taste out of his mouth.

Elijah pouts and pivots, heading back in Orlando's direction.

"Makes you miss home, doesn't it?" Dominic licks his lips and makes another face.

"Mm." Billy notices their two friends now tucked away in the corner booth with the band, practically in each other's laps. Dominic twists in his stool, following Billy's gaze. "Sometimes I forget why I came here at all." They both continue to stare across the room. "D'you ever get that?"

Dominic turns back to the bar and takes a swig of beer, thinking. He can feel Billy examining him again.

"No?"

He smirks. "I'll have to get back to you on that." He looks up at Billy. "So why _did_ you come here?"

"I love movies," Billy answers simply. "I fell in love with America by proxy, you could say. I guess I came here hoping it would make my life more cinematic." He fiddles with one of his sleeves, rolling it up neater. "Or less disappointing, at least."

Dominic knows there's more to that offhanded remark, but he lets it go. Besides, he's too busy falling in love with the way Billy pronounces the word _love_.

Thankfully, their conversation quickly dwindles to something much less serious but still passionate. They discuss their favorite films, and the more whiskey Billy takes in, the more prone he is to acting out full scenes right there in his seat. Even when he spouts a bit of dialogue from a film Dominic's never seen (or heard of), Billy is still completely mesmerizing. Maybe it's the accent, but every word out of his mouth is just magic to Dominic. After about a half hour of reenactments, Dominic's chest feels as if it's been filled with helium. He can't seem to sit in his chair properly or keep his hands still.

Billy feels similarly freed--lightened, like he's emerged from underneath a great big anvil. They're not even in very deep conversation, but he gets that same feeling he gets during a really great class discussion. That feeling of being stretched back to full size. That indescribable feeling of something _happening_. He gets it simply exchanging these insignificant bits with Dominic. A stubborn little sliver of him can't help but register how dangerous this could be.

After they've expended most of their energy, Dominic sits hunched over his lighter, flicking it on and off rhythmically. He reaches for the fag tucked behind his ear and twirls it in his other hand, passing it between his fingers from dip to dip in a gesture that looks at once practiced and improvised.

Billy stares at his fingers and feels his insides move with their grace.

"Tempted, Professor?"

Billy's heart lurches. "Hm?"

With a look of mild triumph, Dominic holds the cigarette upright inches from Billy's nose. "We can share if you like."

Billy downs the rest of his third whiskey and moves to pull on his coat. "You're a bad influence, you are."

 


	12. Fic: Boston (Interlude: Temptation), WIP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominic and Billy share a cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies! I promised to post this almost a month ago. I promise to stop making such promises. On a related note, _Boston_ will probably be on hiatus for the next month, as I'm doing [](http://slashababy.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://slashababy.livejournal.com/)**slashababy** and some fic gifts.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Dominic and Billy share a cigarette.  
 **Note:** Apologies! I promised to post this almost a month ago. I promise to stop making such promises. On a related note, _Boston_ will probably be on hiatus for the next month, as I'm doing [](http://slashababy.livejournal.com/profile)[**slashababy**](http://slashababy.livejournal.com/) and some fic gifts.  
 **Note 2:** Some German here, gleaned from the Google Translation tool (thanks, [](http://shelley6441.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://shelley6441.livejournal.com/)**shelley6441**!). If there are any errors or if there's a better way to say these phrases (which I'm sure there is), please let me know and I'll correct them.  


 

**INTERLUDE: TEMPTATION - A MINUTE OR TWO LATER**

The stars are blinking down at Dominic when he pushes through the heavy wooden door, and he takes a step or two to his left to make room for Billy, his head cocked back to acknowledge them. It's gotten much colder, but he doesn't really feel it, smiling up at all the tiny white specks. He feels _new_. "Gorgeous, innit?"

Billy's voice goes a bit high as he tilts his own head back. "Yeah." He bounces on the balls of his feet as the frigid air starts to penetrate. At the touch of an impossibly warm hand on his shoulder, his head snaps back to center. Dominic is there, holding the cigarette inches from his mouth. Billy looks everywhere but at those unsettling eyes as he closes the distance, pursing his lips around the paper.

Dominic steps just a shade closer, cupping one hand around the fag and lighting it with the other. Billy chances a look at his companion's face as he inhales deeply. "There you are," Dominic rumbles under his breath.

"Thanks." Billy offers it back to him immediately. "You'll have me addicted to these soon."

A slow smile unfolds across Dominic's face as he exhales a drag of his own. "With any luck."

If Billy registers the subtext of this remark, he doesn't show it. He begins to hum one of Dietrich's numbers from the film, lower than she performed it, of course. A swirl of warmth starts to circulate in Dominic's stomach, like Billy's voice is seeping into there through his navel. _Shite._ He leans one hip against the brick and takes a slow, deep drag to give at least himself the illusion that he still has some control here.

"So. Dom." Billy wraps his arms around himself. "...inic."

Dominic laughs with his mouth closed, pushing smoke through his nostrils.

"I still haven't decided what to call you. Which do you prefer?"

His gaze drops to Billy's mouth to picture it undulating around the two words. He weighs the pair of moving images in his mind. "I still haven't decided."

Billy feels himself flushing under the scrutiny. He can almost see the steam rising from his cheeks. "Ehm. What did you think of the film?" He reaches for the fag again. Dominic shoves his hands into his pockets to keep them occupied in its absence.

"Don't ask me that. You're the expert."

"Fuck all that. Did you enjoy it or not?"

At that moment, a small group of guys exits the bar, pouring through the door into the empty space between them. Dominic silently thanks the intruders for giving him some more time to refine his answer--and work up the courage to actually let it out of his mouth.

They drift back together once the talkative bunch is down the street and out of earshot.

Dominic takes a deep breath. "I love Dietrich. My mum always used to make me watch this one film of hers, when I was little. I don't think I ever knew what it was called, but." He searches Billy's face. "It's the one where she dresses up in the gorilla suit--"

The cigarette burns away in the crook of Billy's fingers, forgotten. " _Blonde Venus_. That's my favorite!"

Dominic lets his smile go wide and unabashed, stretching his face. "Yeah, it's brilliant! It's like a dream or something." With this tiny push, the words come tumbling out. "I remember never giving a fuck about the plot, I just loved the songs. It's like Dietrich becomes a completely different person. She's more herself than she ever is when she's with the guy. I felt the exact same way tonight."

"Right!" Billy throws his hands up, ash drifting to the ground in a graceful arc. "It's like that with the crossdressing, too. She's so much more confident when she's dressed like a man. _That's_ her true identity--not the character she's playing." He remembers the fag and takes a drag, laughing. "God. You just made one of my main points about the film better than I ever could." He flicks off some excess ash and puts the tiny vice back in the hand of its rightful owner.

"I think _you_ made the point there, but cheers."

The way Dominic pronounced _Dietrich_ echoes in Billy's mind, and he remembers something from their first meeting: _Happy tears._ Billy digs into his dwindling German vocabulary for a moment. _Glückliche Tränen._ "D'you speak German?"

The wind tousles Dominic's bangs and he tosses them out of his downcast eyes. "I grew up in Germany."

" _No._ "

He raises his gaze to Billy's with a sheepish smile and a nod.

"That's fucking great!"

"It was. I loved it." His voice has gone all quiet and pensive.

"I, ehm. I had to learn it in school, for my dissertation. I'm very good at reading it, but my pronunciation's shite. I don't think I've spoken it in over a year, actually." His mouth has started to move a bit awkwardly around his words in its effort to resist the cold air.

Dominic watches him. "Sag was, Schatz."

The breath rushes out of Billy as he protests. "No, I can't. I'd butcher your native language. It'd be humiliating."

"Come on. You made me give you an impromptu film review. It's only fair." Dominic has started visibly shivering, but he doesn't want to go back inside yet. He takes a generous pull off their shared fag and releases it slowly, elegantly. "Sprich mit mir."

Billy winces in preemptive embarrassment, but he also finds that there's no way he can refuse Dominic's request. There is a gentle, luring quality about his voice that Billy's noticed since the first time he heard him speak. Besides, to say no would destroy the momentum of the evening. "Alright. I'll say something I know I'll get right." He clenches his eyes and sniffs, reaching into the recesses of his mind for the first words of the joke.

He'd actually been at a gathering much like this when he first learned it over a year ago. An afterparty for another local band. Lij had been trying to push a friend from work onto Billy early on, a fucking film critic no less, but Billy had simply given him a pleading _No_ look, and that was that.

Instead, Billy had taken up with the bass player of the band, an import from Munich who'd spent a number of years living in Glasgow and had a great love of his native city. They'd started out talking about their favorite pubs and restaurants, and somehow ended up discussing Billy's dissertation which, at that point, was still being researched. The bass player had thought it'd be fun to work on Billy's German, and decided to teach him every swear word and dirty joke he knew. Billy'd been drinking quite a bit after a four or five-month sober streak, so he was slow to pick up on phrases, let alone remember them. But the bass player had insisted on him learning this one long, elaborate dirty joke, if nothing else, and committing it to memory.

As soon as Billy latches onto the first two words, his mouth begins moving by sense memory, quick and sharp. Dominic's eyes widen in delight, urging Billy to speak louder and quicker. He takes one last drag off their cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stomping it. He crosses his arms and bites his lip as he watches Billy.

About halfway through the joke--and far from the punchline--Dominic is already laughing uncontrollably, probably at the spectacle of Billy speaking his native language like he's reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. This distracts Billy for just a moment (he's never seen Dominic laugh so hard, or even at all, really), and he stumbles. He clenches his eyes again, picturing the bass player's mouth moving over the phrases, and regains his footing.

He'd been pretty, the German. In fact, Lij had referred to him as "textbook hot"--in the same league as Orlando, but more on the Aryan side. At the end of the night, while they were on the T heading home, Elijah had told Billy that he'd been "into" him, which Billy couldn't even comprehend. He was so beautiful. Sure, it was the kind of beauty that Billy could personally take or leave, but still, it was unprecedented, someone who looked like that being interested in him.

Billy hasn't told this joke for a good six or seven months now, but he's fallen into the uncannily familiar rhythm of it like it's only been a day or two. He opens his eyes and looks at Dominic, who's a completely different order of beautiful--Aryan, yes, but the make of his face is in a league all its own, exotic and familiar at the same time.

Billy steps toward him and takes a dramatic pause before dryly delivering the punchline: "Ich wusste nicht, das sie ihre Schwester war!"

Dominic throws his head back at the stars and laughs round and bright, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. "That's fantastic!" he chokes out.

Billy knows immediately that he'll never tire of seeing Dominic laugh like that.

"I've got one for _you_ , mate." Dominic rests both hands--still persistently warm--on the shoulders of Billy's peacoat.

"Langsam," he pleads breathlessly. "Langsam."

"Alright." Dominic clears his throat before letting the words drip from his mouth. Like most people, the quality of his voice changes a bit when switching languages. It turns a bit softer around the German, despite the vulgarity of the words he's using--of which Billy can only catch a few the first time around before having to go back and put them together in some meaningful way. Dominic takes pregnant pauses, sensing Billy's slow comprehension.

The joke is funny, to be sure, and even more profane than Billy's, but Billy can't seem to think about laughing just now. He knows he'll have to when it's over, but with Dominic standing so close, touching him with his hands for the first time since... He can't help but think of other things, envision them with such clarity it's making his chest spin. Dominic's mouth is just so _there_. How is it that so many people have managed to stop themselves from kissing it?

Billy moves his gaze to the bottom of the zipper on Dominic's coat and wraps his hands around Dominic's forearms to steady himself, to concentrate on the words. After a few phrases, Dominic stops, and Billy waits until he's caught up before raising his eyes in expectation.

Dominic tilts his head forward ever so slightly, then drawls: "Und der Barkeeper sagte, 'Hey! Ich habe gutes Geld für das Schwein bezahlt!'"

It takes Billy a few seconds to put all the elements of the joke together, and when he finally does, the laughter erupts from him in loud, almost painful cackles. He nearly falls into Dominic with the force of it, and, shocked by the cold leather of his coat against his face, begins to laugh even harder.

Dominic's hands slide easily into Billy's hair--it doesn't take much movement, after all--as he quietly laughs along with him.

Maybe the joke isn't even that funny, but the whole night has just been so relentlessly _good_. It's been so long since Billy's felt this relaxed and this happy, he almost doesn't recognize the sound of his own laughter. He wraps his arms around Dominic and lets his eyes fall shut at the feel of his fingers rubbing his scalp. It feels incredible, being touched like this.

"Gut, nicht wahr?" Dominic speaks into his ear.

Billy rests his chin on Dominic's shoulder and shivers a bit. "Wo. Wo...?" He can't remember the verb for _learn_. He pulls away, reestablishing distance with a firm hand to Dominic's chest. "'M sorry, I haven't slept in three days," he laughs.

Dominic inhales deeply and erases the space between them again, working one hand between the buttons on Billy's coat. He exhales, "Do you need some unwinding?" as two fingers trip their way along the soft part of Billy's stomach above his belt.

Billy very nearly falls onto Dominic's mouth before he remembers fuzzily that he's not meant to. Not permitted, rather. "Ehm. I think..." He wraps his hand around Dominic's and extracts it carefully. "...we'd best leave that be for the time being."

The little bit of light that goes out of Dominic's eyes is nearly unnoticeable.

Billy steps back into his space again, rubbing the backs of his knuckles against Dominic's scruff. "Besides, between the two of us right now," he runs a palm through his own scruff, "I think we'd erupt in flames."

It's an ineffectual balm, but Dominic lets out a breath of a laugh nonetheless.

"I, ehm." Billy's hands fall back to his sides and he cracks his knuckles, looking at the ground. "I'd still like to see you, though. I really enjoy talking to you."

Dominic crosses his arms and straightens his back as much as he can against the cold. "Go out for coffee?" The mirth in his voice is just a shade bitter.

Billy says, "Yeah," as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "Do you drink coffee?"

"No." Dominic's laughter turns genuine.

"Oh, me neither. I just have them inject it by syringe." He makes an injection gesture, and Dominic laughs again, lowering his eyes. "Come on. Come watch me drink coffee. Thursday."

Dominic's gaze narrows on Billy. "Are you sure?" He sounds at a loss.

Billy answers by taking Dominic's hand in his. He procures a pen from the inside pocket of his peacoat and presses it to the skin of Dominic's palm, scrawling the location of a cafe near the Common, then _Thursday 2:30pm_. "Are you free then?"

"I think I can clear a window, yeah," Dominic jokes, anxious to take his hand back.

 

***

 _Sag was, Schatz._ \- Say something, sweetheart.

 _Sprich mit mir._ \- Talk to me.

 _Ich wusste nicht, das sie ihre Schwester war!_ \- I didn't know she was your sister!

 _Langsam._ \- Slowly.

 _Und der Barkeeper sagte, "Hey! Ich habe gutes Geld für das Schwein bezahlt!"_ \- And the bartender said, "Hey! I paid good money for that pig!"

 _Gut, nicht wahr?_ \- Good, isn't it?

 _Wo. Wo...?_ \- Where. Where...?

 

 


	13. Fic: Boston (19 & 20/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Dominic come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. I'm making a valiant effort to get back on the weekly update schedule I rocked when I first started posting this.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Billy and Dominic come home.  
 **Note:** So sorry for the delay. I'm making a valiant effort to get back on the weekly update schedule I rocked when I first started posting this.  


**SCENE 19. - INT. DOMINIC AND ORLANDO'S FLAT - 1:34AM**

Dominic feels horribly awkward, hovering in front of the fridge in his own kitchen like this. He scritches a hand messily over his scalp, needing something to do but not knowing what. He opens the fridge door and automatically reaches for a beer, then jerks his hand back to scritch again. He eyes the shelves, forcing himself to plan dinner for tomorrow. At the sound of a chipmunk giggle from down the hall, he slams the door shut.

_Fuck._

All he wants is to bloody _talk_ to someone, have someone help him sort things, specifically Orli, but Orli's too busy showing Elijah to his room. And Dominic's _really_ not looking forward to listening to that in about five minutes. For a split second, he contemplates going back out, getting another drink, maybe even bringing a john home because fuck it, he _can_. But honestly, he's too distracted, too unnerved. And pissed at himself for being unnerved.

He fills a tall glass with tap water and drops into a chair at their little eating table. It's not until he's halfway done with it that Orlando appears, bracing himself on the archway.

"This is so weird, am I right?" he whispers, wrinkling his nose. "I didn't even think of Lij, you know? I don't really consider him a regular." He throws a sickeningly charming smile at Dominic. "Talk about fate."

Dominic wants to roll his eyes but settles for sliding his glass back and forth.

Orlando pushes off the archway. "What happened with the professor?" He grabs two beers from the fridge and shuts the door, leaning on it.

"Turned me down," Dominic shrugs.

"Fuckwit."

"Asked me to coffee." Dominic displays his hand, wiggling his fingers.

Orli grabs said fingers and lays Dominic's hand out on the table, palm-up. His eyes run over Billy's words and he smiles. "Hmm." He procures a bottle opener from his pocket and pops off the caps.

Dominic looks up at him, curling his hand inward protectively. "What?" Orli doesn't open his mouth, but there's a teasing glint in his eyes. He clinks the beer bottles together a few times, just to be playful. Dominic can feel the corners of his own mouth betraying him. " _What?_ "

"Maybe he's being a gentleman. Maybe he wants to date you all proper-like." He tickles Dominic's chin with his cold fingers.

Dominic smacks him on the softer part of his stomach and protests, "Fuck _off_ ," but his smile is uncontrollable and his tone isn't anything less than excited.

Orli releases a triumphant laugh and reaches low for another tickle. "You want to date the Scottish film scholar!"

"S-s-stop, man!" Dominic rocks the wooden chair violently in an effort to fend him off. After some maneuvering, he catches Orlando in a headlock from his seat. "Go fuck the little American with the weird hair," he laughs, pushing Orli away by the back of his head.

"I'm on it, sir," Orlando laughs, stumbling gracelessly out of the room.

It takes almost half a minute for Dominic's smile to completely fade. After this exchange, he feels okay to down the rest of his water and make his way to his own bedroom--to throw on his headphones and crank the volume way, _way_ up, no doubt.

But when he makes his way over the threshold, he finds himself too distracted to even hear the two voices coming through the wall. That spot, that spread of rug where he and Billy had their last time, is staring him in the face, demanding his attention. He hasn't really been able to enter his room over the last week without thinking about it. Every time he's come home, he's felt the need to relive that fantastic _thing_ that happened. He doesn't want to call it a fuck, even in his head. But he really doesn't want to call what they did making love.

He wonders what it must have looked like from where he's standing now, Billy throwing him down and touching him to oblivion, his own legs bent back like he was a turned-over insect.

It's a little overwhelming, having that memory and the memory of tonight intertwining in his head.

He absently rubs his cheek against the collar of his worn leather jacket, remembering their goodbye. After a polite exchange of, "This was great," "I had a fantastic time," and "See you Thursday," Billy'd turned back halfway and reached out to finger the leather at his neck. His mouth quirked but there was still a twinge of concern in his voice: _I don't think you can get away with this much longer._

Dominic carefully twists his way out of the jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair. Then, he pulls the rolled up screening program out of his back pocket and throws it onto the desk beside it. He won't read Billy's bio again, at least not tonight. Maybe in a couple of weeks when they're really just friends and he's gotten over this shite. Or in a couple of weeks when they're out of each other's lives completely. Who knows?

He clears his throat and that sends him into a coughing fit, his first since around lunchtime. "Fucking hell," he moans under his breath before stepping out of his jeans.

He catches sight of the writing on his hand and glares at it, already nervous for Thursday. Predictions come rushing across the back of his eyes without his permission: images of him and Billy sitting in the cafe, the bottom half of Billy's face disappearing behind a tall white cup. Billy smiling, laughing. Billy asking him what he wants his life to be. Billy leaning across the table, into Dominic's space--

He presses his fingers into his eyelids and chides himself. " _Stop._ " He can't allow himself to have these thoughts anymore.

It's all Orli's fucking fault, putting these ideas into his head with that "proper dating" shite. Dominic takes the briefest moment to indulge that possibility, the possibility that there's even the slightest hint of truth to Orli's joke. He rubs at his forehead, just above his eyebrows. He doesn't even know how he would navigate it, if it were possible.

Anyway, it's not. The last thing Dominic is, is daft. That was most certainly a rejection tonight. _Wasn't it?_

He extracts his journal from beneath his mattress and flops onto his bed, uncapping a pen with his teeth. He flips to the lone cigarette paper he's using as a bookmark and writes the date down. He doesn't want to get into anything too detailed or exploratory, especially not about the effect tonight's had on him, when there's still hope that it'll all fade by morning. Without really thinking, he jots down something about Billy's eyes (again), Billy's hands (again), and how everything between them has fundamentally shifted (...again).

He leaves the little blue book open for a few more moments, tapping the end of the pen against his bottom lip. Finally, he sets the ballpoint to the page again.

_I'm terrified of what I could feel for him._

He stares at those words until they blur into fuzzy blue curlicues, then shifts his hand to the end of the page. In the margin, he writes a subtraction. After a brief struggle, he remembers what the beers on tap cost tonight, then takes that away from how much he spent overall, circling the difference.

*

**SCENE 20. - INT. BILLY'S FLAT - 2:12AM**

The overwhelming feeling in Billy's gut when he closes the door behind him is guilt. He can't figure out why that should be, though. It's not as if he broke Dominic's heart tonight.

He lets out the start of a laugh as he throws his keys down on the table by the door.

This is complete and utter stupidity. He's not Dominic's ex, he's his former customer. In fact, Dominic's probably found someone else to take home, someone who'll do more and pay more than he ever could. He didn't ask Billy out of anything resembling _desire_ , for God's sake. It was business. And Billy was convenient and, most of all, safe.

Frustrated, he nearly tears off his tweed jacket and tugs it messily onto a hanger. He lowers himself to his bed, not bothering with his jeans. He can't undress with his body thrumming through his clothes like it is.

Fuck, he wanted to go home with him. Wants to.

He closes his eyes and starts pulling the buttons of his shirt free with one hand. When the two halves separate, he shrugs out of them slowly, rolling his shoulders, then lets the shirt fall to the floor at his feet. He toes off his shoes and leaves them underneath the heap of wrinkled green fabric.

He can't believe he's going to do this again.

It's certainly not the first time he's brought himself off thinking of Dominic--far from it. He hasn't even bothered to keep track of how often he's needed to since the night they met. In all fairness, it's not always Dominic in his head when he does it. Sometimes it's nothing. Just a vague feeling of want, with intermittent sparks of danger and something else. But the catalyst is consistent.

Billy doesn't open his eyes as he lays back, knees bent, feet flat on the duvet. From the moment his hand starts its descent, it's a reluctant thing, impossible to enjoy. It was so innocuous before tonight, when Billy expected to never run into him again, even in spite of the one night they actually did. Now it's just confusing and awful, and he can't.

It's all by touch this time. He doesn't open his eyes once, alternating between a slow, barely there tug, and a quick, relentless one, a not quite pleasurable extension of his inner conflict. After tonight, he can't help but feel manipulated. It's literally Dominic's job to turn people on, to make them desire him. He wonders how much of it has been real and what parts have been carefully fabricated. The narrowing of Dominic's eyes, the movement of his tongue, the cant of his hip, the look of his smile and the sound of his laughter.

Billy's hand speeds up and he tenses. It doesn't matter. It all worked.

When he comes, it's no more than a stutter and a sigh, a need fulfilled. In a few minutes, he'll drift off carrying a different kind of guilt with him.

_This can't happen again._

He wipes his hand absently on his jeans and thinks of the plan they made for Thursday. Dominic's good, but Billy's quite the actor himself.

 

 


	14. Fic: Boston (21/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few steps forward and one giant step back.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** A few steps forward and one giant step back.  


 

**SCENE 21. - EXT. BOSTON COMMON COFFEE CO. - THURSDAY 2:35PM**

 

Through the front window, Dominic can see Billy tucked into a brown leather chair, not quite close enough to the entrance to be on display but close enough to be seen. He's clean-shaven now--which makes Dominic smile--and looking quite at home, hunched intensely over a pile of papers stacked on the table in front of him.

Dominic's made it a point to be late--just late enough that he'll seem aloof without also seeming like a neglectful cunt. But considering the multiple, presumably empty cups of coffee perched on his table, Billy's probably already been working here for hours. The need for pretense instantly dissolved, Dominic pushes through the front door and approaches.

Billy doesn't look up until the last possible moment, but when he does, his eyes brighten and a little shiver goes through his voice. "Hey."

"Thought your work was done," Dominic smiles, keeping his voice light. He jerks his head at the hefty stack of sheets.

"Oh." Billy straightens. "This isn't mine. I'm grading papers. I'm on the last one." He waves it through the air, his eyes wide and a bit manic. He's obviously overcaffeinated.

Dominic bites his lip, amused. "Alright. I'll go... get something. ...D'you want a refill there?" He gestures grandly at Billy's carousel of coffee cups.

Expecting a laugh and a _No_ , Dominic can't help but jump a little when Billy quickly replies, "Regular coffee? Black?"

Dominic winces; he can practically taste the bitter shite in the back of his throat. But he concedes, "Okay," and makes his way through the gaps between the tables and chairs.

As an adamant coffee hater, Dominic hasn't spent an awful lot of time in places like this. He's amazed at how many people are here on a weekday afternoon; he wonders what they all do for a living. Many are students, no doubt, with their laptops and their finish-this-paper-or-die expressions, not unlike Billy's before. But a considerable number of the customers here look much too old or too at ease for that. Those are the people he wonders about.

As he nears the cashier, he peruses the pastries behind glass and quickly decides on a lemon bar to go with his berry chai. He glances at Billy, who's still hunched over, writing furiously on the final paper of the bunch. Dominic shifts restlessly from foot to foot. The nerves that left him during their greeting are back with a vengeance. _What will we talk about?_

He tries thinking of questions to ask about the lecture the other night, about Dietrich, about Billy's program, but he's not sure Billy's going to be so eager to talk about anything film-related after spending the past however many hours grading. And besides, Dominic doesn't think he'll have anything of more value to say than Billy's students.

He envisions himself making some harmlessly flirty comment about Billy's lack of a beard, maybe even touching his face. But none of that would be harmless at all, between them, would it?

This was so easy the other night, Dominic thinks. He just needs to get himself back in that state of mind, and he'll be golden.

By the time he's returned to the table, he's more than halfway to confident, but the fact that Billy's still writing and hasn't so much as blinked an eye at him causes him to stumble back a few paces. He sets Billy's fresh coffee down quietly, but is unable to do much else with his teacher debris covering most of the table.

Billy begins to scribble just a shade faster, speaking the final words of his comments aloud. "...raises... more questions... than... it answers."

 _No shit_ , Dominic thinks ruefully, watching Billy sign his name with a flourish. Not _Professor Boyd_ or _Mr. Boyd_ \--just _Billy_.

They make an awkward dance of shifting papers around, discarding empty cups, and getting their food and drink settled, and then Billy lets out a huge sigh. He rolls his neck around in a semi-circle, leans back in his chair, and lifts his coffee to his mouth. "Thanks." He keeps the cup in his lap, sliding the cardboard sleeve up and down a bit. "How's work?" he asks lightly.

Dominic starts to laugh, then realizes that Billy's actually waiting for an answer. He shrugs, hiding his mouth behind his own cup. "Work..."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dominic lets himself laugh. He pulls off a piece of the lemon bar and chews thoughtfully, looking out the front window. "I just think it's incredible that you feel free enough to be here with me."

"Why?" Billy looks slightly affronted.

"Well." Dominic turns back to him and pulls his chair closer. "There aren't a whole lot of people in your profession who would be comfortable with it. I mean, what if a student sees you with me and they know... what I am?"

Billy smiles. "Well, I'm hoping none of my students has slept with you, for one. That would make things a bit awkward for me." He takes another sip of coffee and sets it down on the table. " _What you are._ You make it sound as if you're The fucking Fly." He clasps his hands and stretches his arms over his head, looking impossibly boyish. "Besides, I've had friends who make their money in far worse ways."

"Me too."

Dominic's eyes fix on the number written in black marker on the side of Billy's cup. He gestures at the pen Billy left on the table. "Mind if I borrow that?" Billy shakes his head. Dominic writes the amount in small print on the fleshy part of his palm, right under his thumb.

"Is that...?" Billy's voice has gone high and inquisitive.

"What?" Dominic speaks quickly, immediately curling his hand into a fist.

Billy points at Dominic's hip with a gleam in his eye. "Can I...?"

"Oh." Dominic suddenly remembers the camera he strapped over his chest that morning, with the intention of taking more pictures in the Common. He carefully lifts it over his head and passes it to Billy with a twinge of anxiety. He might as well be handing his heart across the table. Plus, he thinks, Billy probably knows a lot more about photography than he does. Dominic busies himself with his lemon bar and tea, waiting for a reaction.

After a few moments, Billy finally chuckles under his breath. Dominic raises his eyes. "This one." Billy indulges Dominic by leaning in and showing him what picture he's looking at: a squirrel pawing through tin foil for the remains of a gyro. "The textures and the colors are beautiful." Billy continues to cue forward, not bothering to sit back properly. There's a soft, quiet smile on his face. "I can't believe you've found so many animals in the city. I never even notice them."

Dominic smiles wide, pleased. "Well, not so much now. Too fucking cold." He shifts in his chair, feeling a bit more protective when Billy starts going through photos of the Charles.

But Billy is nothing less than reverent. "Wow." He stops on a close-up of the ice meeting the green shore. "I can't believe this is digital. The lighting is incredible." He takes a long while going through the photos of the river, lingering on each with care. "Do you ever photograph people?"

Before he can open his mouth to reply, Dominic is already imagining what it would be like to photograph Billy. He tries hard to focus on the little viewscreen. "No, not really. I've always liked nature." They meet eyes and Dominic almost loses his train of thought, realizing how close they are. He quickly looks back at the camera. "I try to get out of the city every once in a while to shoot. Some of the suburbs can be really gorgeous, especially in the fall. Like Wellesley and Newton." Billy _mm_ s in agreement. "I was supposed to go to Salem this weekend, but..."

"...Work?" Billy looks at him.

"Yeah," Dominic sighs. "These guys from Rhode Island come in a few times a year to see us. They pay for the entire night. I can't say no." The air around them immediately and palpably changes, and Dominic almost regrets having brought it up. Billy continues going through the photos, but his mind is clearly working through something else. Dominic leans back in his chair, leaving him alone at the middle of the table. "You have questions." Billy looks up. "About what I do," he clarifies. He pulls another bite off his lemon bar. "It's killing you, isn't it?" He pops it in his mouth elegantly, and Billy laughs, flushing a bit. "You don't have to act so nonchalant about it."

Billy sets the camera down gently in front of Dominic and bites his lip as if caught.

Dominic shifts his hips and plays at the leather on his wrist, feeling suddenly bold. "Ask me anything. I don't mind. I won't be offended, I promise."

"I don't want you to feel like I'm dissecting you, or something." Billy hides behind his coffee.

"It's too late for that, mate. After that lecture the other night, I'm always going to feel like you're dissecting me."

Billy takes a deep breath, readying himself. "I won't hit a nerve?"

"No. Impossible."

"You're _sure_?"

Dominic lets out a little burst of laughter. " _No._ Fucking come on with it."

Billy takes a big sip of coffee, smiling. He swallows. "How often do you, ehm...?"

"Average?" Dominic considers. He's definitely thought about it before, but the numbers have changed in the last year, with he and Orli securing regulars and just being more cautious. " _Usually_ , 'bout... seven or eight a week."

Billy's eyebrows shoot up. "That's it?"

Dominic nods. "We get some pretty high-end clients these days. Well, Orli does. I just sort of piggyback on. So to speak."

"How high-end?" Billy speaks slowly and carefully, even though he knows that no one around them is eavesdropping or would even know exactly what they were talking about, if they were. Dom could be a vaccuum salesman, for the language they're using. Billy takes in Dominic's soft-looking maroon tee and well-worn jeans, wondering how much thought goes into how he presents himself. He doesn't look nearly as wicked as he did the night they met.

"Pretty high-end," Dominic answers cryptically. "Not celebrities or anything." He laughs at the thought. "Corporate. Finance people."

"Hmm." Billy's voice is light and thoughtful. He doesn't know what he expected of Dom's answers, but he knows it wasn't this. "You said _usually_ , you _usually_ see seven or eight a week...?"

Dominic hesitates. "I'm, um, sort of on vacation."

A bright, amused smile works its way across Billy's face. "Really? For how long?"

"I'm not sure," Dominic exhales. He sees the follow-up question on the tip of Billy's tongue. "I can make my half of the rent in a week." Billy's jaw drops. Dominic looks a bit smug. "Yeah. Plus, remember how I said we went to Mexico? That was Orli's biggest client. So we're set for a while." He smiles, thinking of Angie. "She's something else."

Predictably, Billy nearly spits a mouthful of coffee at him. " _She?_ "

"We do have women sometimes. It's rare, but we do." He laughs at Billy, who looks breathless. "Blowing your mind, eh?" he drawls.

Billy suddenly and acutely remembers the rasp of Dominic's scruff on his neck, what it felt like that first time as he whispered a price into his ear, and he has to hide behind his coffee again.

"Orli's still working, though. He likes doing it. Likes the attention, I guess."

Billy watches the afternoon light turn Dominic's eyes a murky green as he licks powdered sugar off his fingers. "Don't you?"

Dominic wipes his hand inches below the collar of his shirt, leaving faint marks there. "Depends on who's giving it."

"What if you wanted to date someone?" The words are out of Billy's mouth before he can even rehearse them in his head. Dominic visibly stiffens. "I mean, you or Orlando. How does that work?"

Dominic sets his tea down, suddenly feeling a bit sick. " _I_ wouldn't know. But, um. Orli's dated. I know that. And everything's usually out in the open. He's good at finding people who understand. Or don't care," he shrugs. "He's made it work. But never with anyone seriously, I don't think."

Billy hesitates. He doesn't want to push, but he really wants to know--and Dominic gave him the go-ahead, after all. "You've never...? While you've been...?"

"Um." Dominic scratches his thigh, then sits on his hands. "I, uh. I did have this john last year who I really liked." He smiles, eyes on a leg of one of the other tables near theirs. "He was much older." He glances up at Billy. "Like, retired, gray, all that. Not at all what I would have expected. English, very proper, well-dressed. So elegant. But a wicked sense of humor. He was like a character in a book. But." He remembers eyes merry with drink, sex, and conversation, a thick tongue stained purple. "He really took to me, for one reason or another. He was always feeding me and buying me things to wear."

Billy smiles, imagining such a scenario with clarity. "He spoiled you."

"Yeah. Not so much in bed, but otherwise, yeah," Dominic laughs, pulling one hand from beneath him to take a pull off his tea. "Anyway, I thought I was in love with him, for a little while. But that wasn't the case. I think we were both just really lonely. We found each other at the right time, kept each other company, and went our separate ways. I think he's back home now." Dominic's been conditioned to not mention any of his clients by name, but this one he won't even think of by it. He only has fond memories of him now, but somehow it still stings to think of his name; it makes him too immediate, when the truth is they've been out of each other's lives for what feels like years. Much as he cared for him, that's how he'd like to keep it.

"...Are you lonely now?" Billy looks at him carefully.

Dominic meets his eyes and considers this for a few moments before shaking his head quietly. And right now, right here, he's pretty sure he means it.

Suddenly, a sliver of discomfort settles over their table. Billy can't continue his line of questioning without addressing something.

He fingers a quarter from Dominic's change, sliding it in small, slow circles on the wood. "I have to admit." He keeps his eyes on the coin. "When I declined your offer the other night, I was afraid you might be offended."

Dominic manages to pull off sounding mock-incredulous. "I _was_! I mean, I don't get turned down very often, Professor. I'll have you know."

Billy laughs, terribly thankful for Dominic's sense of humor, and not for the first time. "I, ehm." He whisks the quarter off the end of the table and holds it in his fist, squeezing it. "I felt." He feels foolish for taking so much time to get the words right, but Dominic is all patience across the table. "I _feel_... connected, to you. I can't explain it."

When Billy doesn't continue, Dominic purses his lips and shrugs, letting out a tight laugh. "That's good. I do too."

"Sorry, I'm not--'M not sure what I'm trying to say." He sets the coin back on the table with the others and looks at Dominic. "I don't want us to have that kind of relationship. You understand?"

Dominic nods, his eyes narrowed, but he's still waiting for more.

"I think we can be... more important to each other. Great friends, even."

Dominic averts his gaze out the front window, dazed and kind of nauseated. Billy's managed to turn him into a tug-of-war rope, all in just a few sentences. He inhales deeply and exhales on a little laugh. "I feel like you're breaking up with me."

Billy flushes, fidgeting with the coins again. "I know, I'm sorry. I know I don't even have to explain. I'm sure this happens all the time."

"No, I'm glad you did." Dominic returns to his lemon bar with gusto, game face intact. He raises his cup of tea for a toast and smiles, but his eyes look cloudy. "To friendship, then."

After a long moment, Billy slides his cup against Dominic's but doesn't say anything.

 

 


	15. Fic: Boston (22 & 23/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominic wakes up, and Billy goes to the movies.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Dominic wakes up, and Billy goes to the movies.  


**SCENE 22. - INT. DOMINIC'S BEDROOM - FRIDAY MORNING**

The next morning, Dominic wakes up feeling like he got bulldozed in his sleep. Somehow he's gone from almost completely well to sicker than he was a week before.

"Fuck," he croaks, leaning over the side of the bed in the hopes of clearing his nostrils a bit. It doesn't take long for his stomach to roll in accompaniment, but he's sure that's not genuine illness--that's him remembering his conversation with Billy yesterday. Thinking back on the afternoon overall, it had gone better than he'd expected, in many ways. After that brief awkward lapse, they'd managed to recover almost immediately, picking up right where they'd left off the night of the lecture.

He doesn't really remember most of what they talked about; like the other night, most of their conversation had been trivial. He's not sure he knows Billy any better than he did the night they met (in fact, he might know less--Billy's done an excellent job of confusing the fuck out of him since then), but he knows that Billy really enjoys his company. If Dominic can say anything for himself, it's that his instincts about people are phenomenal. What he does for a living has left him an expert at interpreting looks and touches, especially those directed at him. He almost always knows what's really going on between two pairs of eyes or underneath a seemingly casual exchange. And he knows that Billy likes him. Billy respects him and thinks he's interesting and wants to know more. The air between them _vibrates_ , for Christ's sake, and Dominic's sure that Billy can feel it too.

It doesn't mean he has to want to sleep with him again, but.

Dominic hauls himself out of bed and shuffles his way to the kitchen. He lights the stove and fills the kettle with water, shoving it into place.

Yesterday, he'd come home giddy. His brain had basically transformed into a flipbook of Billy's facial expressions, set to a soundtrack of calm, lilting phrases. Now, he can't seem to stop focusing on that one moment--the one where Billy'd used the phrase _great friends_ \--and he feels tempted to erase the entire afternoon from his memory.

He clears his throat as he pulls a mug from the cabinet, and that sets off the coughing, indefinitely.

Orlando looks like a stunned rabbit as he enters the room. "That sounds awful, mate."

Dominic widens his eyes in acknowledgement, still coughing.

"D'you think you'll be okay for tonight?" Orlando pulls a mug down for himself and gives him a look of concern.

"Hm?"

"...John and Chris. They're coming in tonight." Orli gives him a look that gets across the unspoken _Remember, you fucking twit?_ that's meant to come after.

" _Fuck._ " He'd forgotten. And he's not exactly ecstatic to be reminded. He warms his hands over the tea kettle, wanting to make some joke about the prospect of giving head while he's this congested--something involving a snorkel or one of those nasal strips--but the words get all jumbled in his head and quickly fall away. He's still sort of annoyed with himself for having told Billy about John and Chris at all, and he doesn't know why, which annoys him even more.

"Still mooning over the professor?" Orlando leans a hip against the kitchen counter and smirks, his arms crossed.

 _Bloody roommate telepathy._ Dominic feigns indifference, shrugging with one shoulder as he sets up the teabags. "Nah. That's definitely not going to happen again. I just feel like shit."

After a moment, Orlando combs his fingers through the hair at the nape of Dominic's neck, then quietly leaves the room.

It's long minutes before the kettle's set to whistle, so Dominic takes a seat and thinks back on how he and Billy parted yesterday. He smiles, remembering how Billy'd sheepishly confessed that he was planning on taking himself to the movies.

"Alone?" Dominic had asked, lighting up a fag.

Billy'd raised his chin in defiance, or maybe pride. " _Yeah._ You've never done it?"

Dominic had shaken his head, and was about to explain that he likes talking during films, but he'd ultimately decided he'd rather not get called a blasphemer by Billy, not just yet. He'd save it for another time.

"Oh, I love it," Billy'd gushed. "You should try it sometime. Go see something in a different language," he'd insisted. "A language you don't know."

Dominic had nodded vaguely in reply, averting his eyes, but he'd already resolved to try it.

"Are you going to shoot?" Billy'd indicated his camera.

"Yeah. Probably just around here."

Billy's eyes had followed his free hand as it gestured through the cold air. And that's when he'd pulled off one of his gloves and handed it over. "Take it. I hate to think of you shooting in this bare-handed."

"The fuck am I supposed to do with _one glove_?" Dominic had chuffed out, tickled.

"You have one and I have one. We'll both have at least one warm hand. It's better than you having two cold hands. And you need the other one bare so you can push that button, anyway," he'd nodded at the camera again.

Dominic had shaken his head, letting the glove hang limp from his hand and the cigarette burn in the other. "And when am I going to give this back to you?"

"...Are you free Sunday?"

Dominic scrubs his hands over his face, trying to wipe away his own insistent smile. He wishes he'd listen to himself, to the constant self-chiding about not getting too excited over anything Billy says or does, not getting carried away. It's clear that Billy's just trying to hasten the process of them getting comfortable with one another again; it _is_ best for them to spend time together as friends as quickly and as often as possible, to ingrain it in their bodies and their hearts (well, Dom's anyway) and hopefully flush out any remaining _impulses_. And if it's friendship Billy wants, Dominic's going to go along with it, so long as it means being in his company.

But how can he do that with someone he already wants so much? He hasn't felt some of the things Billy inspires in him in too long, maybe even ever, and yes, that scares him, but it's also something he doesn't want to lose.

He'd kept the glove, but he hadn't ended up shooting yesterday. Instead, he'd come straight home to glow in solitude--which he'd love to continue doing tonight, mucous and all, but the boys from Rhode Island call, unfortunately.

They're fun, John and Chris, and mostly good-hearted, safe, and (most importantly) rich, but they're also _young_ and just too much sometimes, sort of like Orli without the off switch, and Dominic just doesn't have the energy. In fact, he'd rather spend the night with Billy's glove than either of them.

"Are they getting a hotel room again?" he calls down the hall.

Orlando saunters back in, scrubbing his face with a towel. "Yeah, why?"

"...Y'mind if I opt out tonight? I'll be back in for tomorrow, just. I don't think I'm up to it tonight. I need some more sleep."

"Yeah, of course." Orlando lets the towel hang around his neck like a surfer.

Dominic smiles, grateful. "Think you can handle the two of them on your own?"

"Pfft." He waves a hand through the air and heads back toward the bathroom. "Handled more than that, mate."

Dominic laughs, nearly giddy. It takes him a long moment before he realizes the kettle's whistling.

*

**SCENE 23. - INT. HARVARD FILM ARCHIVE - SATURDAY AFTERNOON**

The theater at the HFA looks almost completely different than it did the other night, now only about half-full and not colored one bit by Billy's own anxiety. Billy takes solace in the fact that he's here merely to indulge, not to present (or, more accurately, defend) the academic interests he holds closest to his heart.

Andy Warhol's _Blow Job_ is being shown as part of a weeklong repertory of the pop artist's work as a director, but it also acts as a good addendum to Billy's still ongoing _Queer_ series. Perhaps that's why he finds so many faces in the audience familiar, some students of his, who smile and wave casually. He's impressed by their discipline; the film they're about to see is quite the test in patience. He's utterly amused by the possibility that they were simply drawn by the title and have no idea what they're in for.

Billy had been kind enough to prepare Elijah, who takes a deep breath as the lights go down. He's fairly certain Lij only comes with him to these screenings so he can mention it in conversation to one of his hipster friends or to a colleague or two, to earn cultural points, but he appreciates the effort nonetheless.

After the reel countdown--which never ceases to give Billy's heart a jolt--the first moments of a thirty-six-minute close-up begin. Billy slouches deep in his seat, settling into the dips and curves of the beautiful man's face as he (presumably) gets sucked off. He can't help it; his mind instantly goes to Dominic. He wonders if Dom would like the film or if he'd be offended by it; after all, it works with a cliche that Dominic embodies to a certain extent: a seductive young man against a brick wall being pleasured by a stranger. There's no context given, but the tone of the images implies that this is an anonymous encounter, and from Warhol's personal life, it's safe to glean that the other person in the scene, just below the frame, is a man.

Billy finds himself quickly falling into the trancelike state that Warhol's films always seem to induce, and he decides that yes, Dominic would love this. Watching _Blow Job_ is like watching a succession of pictures being taken, which, yeah, is _what motion pictures are_ , Billy thinks, feeling like an idiot, but this one in particular is like a moving photo shoot, more so than anything shown in a multiplex. However, he also remembers what Dominic said the other day, about his preference for nature over people, at least when it comes to photography, and he wonders how much it might keep him from enjoying this. But aren't people a part of nature, or at least a reflection of it? Billy thinks of Dom's feline eyes and his sinewy, jungle cat frame, his lizard's tongue, his much-too-agile hands.

He wonders how Dominic remembers the two times they've been together, whether his memories are preserved in stills or in moving images, like Billy's. Has he worked to preserve any memories at all? Billy fidgets, finding such questions dangerous and scary, and he's not sure he wants to know the answers just yet.

It's not fifteen minutes into the film that he leans over to Elijah and whispers, "You know, Dom's a photographer."

"Yeah, I heard that."

Billy can hear Lij's smile underneath his quiet words. "What?"

Elijah sighs. "Oh, nothing."

"What?" He nudges his shoulder.

" _Nothing_ ," Lij hisses, amused.

After a moment, Billy leans over again. "He's very good."

"Oh."

"He takes pictures of woodland creatures and things. It's really adorable." By this point, Elijah's practically shaking with silent laughter. Billy smacks him on the forearm. " _What?_ "

"I'm kind of in the middle of something here. Asshole."

Elijah doesn't quite manage to keep his voice down this last time, so he gets firmly shushed by a couple of intellectual assholes sitting in front of them.

Two or three minutes later, Billy's fully settled back into his Warhol Trance, and it's Elijah who interrupts the silence. "When are you going to see him again?"

"Dom? We have plans for tomorrow."

"Are you two getting brunch?" Elijah chuckles in a whisper. But then Billy's pinching his thigh hard in the dark, drawing a really inappropriate yelp from him. The intellectual assholes shush him again, this time with more vehemence. Elijah waits until they've turned back to the screen to give them two enthusiastic middle fingers up. Nevertheless, he obediently lowers his voice. "This is very out of character for you, you know."

"What?"

"Liking someone like Dom. Liking someone, period."

Billy's eyes drop to his lap. "I don't like him." He's too aware of how much he sounds like a twelve-year-old.

"Okay."

"I don't. I'm serious: it's not like that."

"What's it like, then?" Elijah sounds merely curious rather than confrontational.

Billy's eyes dart back up to the looming screen. Just when he thinks he may have come up with a response, he gets distracted by the bored expression on the man's face as he awaits his climax.

 

 


	16. Fic: Boston (24-25, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominic sees the Rhode Island boys and gets a well-deserved surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter EVAR, omg. And as usual, sorry it took so goddamn long.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Dominic sees the Rhode Island boys and gets a well-deserved surprise.  
 **Note:** Longest chapter EVAR, omg. And as usual, sorry it took so goddamn long.  


  
**SCENE 24. - INT. DOMINIC AND ORLANDO'S FLAT - SATURDAY 11:23PM**

Dominic clears his throat one last time before entering the room. "Evenin,' gents."

John and Chris both turn to him with over-sized greetings, while Orlando simply smiles around the mouth of a beer bottle in acknowledgment.

Although they've only just arrived a few minutes ago, Dominic feels like he's coming into a scene halfway through, and considering the boys were with Orli at the hotel the night before, that's exactly what this is. He can immediately sense both the tension and the release that ripples through the living room, the unspoken exchange that takes place: _Oh, this is different now, we've already worked out a rhythm/But this is the way it's supposed to be, one for each of us/Yes, perfect._

Dominic presses a sly kiss to John's cheek on his way across the room to properly greet his partner. Chris is ordinarily overwhelming--at six-foot-four, he towers over Dominic--but not like this, not sinking into the crease of his and Orlando's big green futon. Tonight, he's all warm brown eyes and college boy nerves. "We missed you last night."

"I missed _you_ , love." Dominic knows what a weapon his voice is, how he can make it curl around people like smoke, and he'll let it drop and rumble tonight. He's already let his accent go loose, remembering that Chris likes him rough around the edges (most of his clients do, actually). The cold only works to help all that, but oddly enough, the air in the room, the burning anticipation that lights the walls, has nearly cleared his sinuses right up. He's hopeful that the adrenaline will carry him through the night.

He drops to a kneel at the edge of the sofa, one knee on either side of Chris' thighs, and takes the bottle from him, draining it. Chris looks pleasantly uncomfortable with his hands now unoccupied and a warm, vibrating Dom in his lap. Dominic bends back a little to deposit the empty beer onto the coffee table, then falls forward until their hips are nearly flush. Chris inhales and Dominic smiles; working Chris up is like working up an old friend.

Dominic and Orlando have learned to work around each other, ignore each other when they're doing this in the same room, so Dominic doesn't even know if he and John are still there by the TV, nor does he care. He braces his hands on the back of the couch on either side of Chris' shoulders and leans forward to take his earlobe between his teeth.

" _Fuck._ Dom." Chris finally manages to work a hand under Dominic's shirt to thumb a hipbone.

"Mm," Dominic answers. They're an odd pair, physically, but they enjoy each other and they make it work. "Been a while, hasn't it?"

He feels Chris smile against his cheek. "Yeah."

Dominic sucks at the skin under his ear, purring. "I know what you need from me." He puts more weight on his arms and undulates restlessly in Chris' lap, suddenly realizing that perhaps he needs this too. He hasn't touched anyone since Billy, and he hates to break that connection, but it doesn't seem that Billy's going to let him touch _him_ again anytime soon, and the ever-expanding well of want at the pit of Dom's stomach needs to empty out somewhere.

Before he knows it, Dominic is being lifted--a sharp, shocking reminder of Chris' size--and carried down the hall to his room. He and Chris haven't done this here in his flat since the first time, and it gives him an odd, stupid feeling of warmth to see that Chris remembers his way around.

Dominic's thrown playfully down to the bed, and they both laugh from the impact. He notices Chris shifting from foot to foot, waiting for a signal, as always, and Dominic is more than obliging, scooting to the end of the mattress and unbuttoning Chris' jeans with practiced hands. He parts the unzipped halves of denim and flattens his tongue to the front of Chris' boxers, bunching the material up a bit. "Missed my mouth as well, mate?" he murmurs before curling his tongue through the opening and tasting warm skin.

"Oh my God," Chris whispers, pushing down on Dominic's shoulders.

*

**CLOSE-UP ON DOMINIC**

It wasn't long before he'd started losing the script. Maybe it was the illness (hopefully _only_ the illness), but Dominic just didn't have it in him to play the domineering bottom tonight. Throaty demands had quickly dwindled to thankful but tired pants and half-hearted moans.

To Dominic's disappointment, Chris hadn't faltered in the least. He gave and took just as much as ever, probably more in his frustration over having to wait an extra night for Dom. But looking at him now, his mouth lax, his heavy body weighing all but Dominic's head and shoulders into the mattress, Dominic wonders how much Chris' satisfaction had to do with his own performance, if at all. It's a silly, useless argument to have with himself, and he immediately forces it out of his head in favor of focusing on Chris' heart beating at his hip.

Staring up at a ceiling he's had memorized for years now, he suddenly misses his older john. Were this one of their rendezvous, they might be laughing or sharing a bottle of wine, probably both. Dominic might curl up in his lap and sigh deeply at the feeling of long, intelligent fingers sliding along his scalp. They'd even kissed a few times, something Dominic not only allowed but initiated and, the last time, begged. It turned into quite the unhealthy situation on his end, he can see that now, but he still holds it close to his heart, and he has no regrets.

Dominic turns his head in the direction of the window and starts working his own fingers through Chris' hair. He can't believe it was only last year that all that happened; it feels like a lifetime ago, at least one full evolution ago on his part, maybe two. The person he is now would never engage in such flagrant self-delusion, such nauseating selflessness and idealism. Dominic wonders how sad it is that he's not lamenting that change. Is it growth or loss?

His eyes fuzz out on the falling snow, and he realizes that his concept of time on a grand scale is all fucked up. He knows the exact time line for when he left home, how long he lived in Needham, when he moved to the city, when he officially started calling himself a hustler. But all that time in between, though it is painstakingly documented in his journal, just seems so abstract to him, immeasurable by an earthly understanding of time. He recalls today's date--December 15th (nearly the 16th)--but he doesn't make a move for the little blue book under the mattress. He has no qualms about nudging Chris off of him; the compulsion to record this just isn't there.

Dominic realizes with an uncomfortable swallow that his nasal passages are quickly closing back up, now that he's been horizontal long enough. Chris' breathing has gone slow and deep, and if Dom's going to get him up, he's going to have to do it within the next two minutes, otherwise he'll be wedged beneath an underage giant the entire night. He inhales the boy's cologne with what little breath he has and promptly feels his stomach churn. "Shite."

Chris is urged onto his back without protest, and Dominic is quickly seated at the foot of the bed with his head between his knees. He hasn't vomited in years, but now it seems inevitable, his own breathing gone all intense and measured, as if his body's preparing for an eruption. He purses his lips and tries to control the nausea, but it's useless; he makes it to the loo just in time for the first heave. It's just as he remembers: awful, heart-thumping misery while it's happening, and utterly peaceful exhaustion afterward.

Sated and in need of a blanket, Dominic washes his mouth out in the sink and practically falls down the hall back into the living room. It seems his body's made the decision to sleep alone before his brain could even consider it. He drags one of many boxes of tissues to the floor next to the futon and trembles into a fetal position, pulling the thick afghan off the back cushion and tucking it around himself. As he tumbles toward sleep, he listens to Orlando and John down the hall and thinks of Chris snoring face-up in his bed, feeling fractured.

For the first time, Dominic admits that he's changed. Maybe Billy triggered it and maybe it happened long before he even showed up on Dom's corner, but it's happened. And if he can't reconcile it with the world he lives in, that world is going to have to change too.

*

**SCENE 25. - INT. DOMINIC AND ORLANDO'S FLAT - SUNDAY MORNING**

When Dominic wakes up for good the next morning, the living room is nearly as dark as it was at midnight and there's a light rain pattering against the windows. His head feels like it's stuffed with cotton and his mouth feels like a garbage bin. He looks at the time on the DVD player across the room (12:17PM) and vaguely recalls having done the same thing at 7:26 when the Rhode Island boys made their escape. One of them, probably John, had smacked him on the ass over the blanket, and he's pretty sure it was Chris who ruffled his hair and whispered _Bye, Dom. See you soon._

Orlando's door is still stubbornly shut, which doesn't surprise Dominic; he and John were still going at it when he'd awoken at two-something. And then again at four-something.

Dominic untangles the afghan from around his calves and tries sitting up but immediately regrets it, his head getting thicker and his throat burning. He indulges in a deep, raspy, grating cough and falls back to the cushions, moaning miserably. He reaches for his mobile, remembering his 10AM text to Billy: _hey professor. feel like shite. raincheck on today?_ Still no response. He makes sure his phone isn't on silent and curls back into his cocoon, enjoying the sound of the rain.

He's in that limbo state between awake and dreaming when there's what sounds like a knock at the door. With more than a little reluctance, he rises again, searching the living room in his sapped stupor for the source of the noise. A moment or two later, the knock comes again, timid but efficient.

Dominic wraps the afghan around himself like a stubborn child and takes his time making his way to the door. Thinking it's probably his neighbor down the hall, come by for an extension cord or something, he literally gasps at what he sees through his and Orlando's peephole: a damp Billy, looking patient and too lovely for his own good. "Sorry, just a second," Dominic rasps. He looks down at himself and rolls his eyes, helpless, wishing he'd had the time or the foresight for a quick shower. He runs an ineffectual hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before easing the door open. "I'm sorry, you didn't get my--"

"No, I got your message. I just came to drop something off." Billy holds up a little brown paper bag. "If that's alright."

Dominic notices that the hand holding the bag is gloved while the one curled at Billy's side isn't, and laughs out loud. "Sure, come in." He steps aside and closes the door behind Billy, pulling at the blanket and his shirt from the night before. "What's in the bag?"

Billy reveals a tupperware filled with an orangey-yellow concoction.

A ridiculous wave of glee passes through Dominic's stomach. "You cook?"

"No," Billy laughs. "Well, I only cook this, this one soup my Gran used to make me whenever I was sick. Obviously it's gone cold at this point--fucking freezing outside--but y'can just pop it in the microwave, should be good."

For a moment, Dominic can't find the right words, or any words at all, really. He's just so stunned that Billy's standing there. But once he notices Billy looking at him with a tight, uncomfortable expression, holding his container in the air in a sort of chicken soup limbo, Dominic thankfully gets it together. "Thank you. This is so sweet." He takes the gift and places it gently on the counter. "You really didn't have to."

"I didn't know if I should just come by like this, but I figured it was worth a shot." Billy gives him a boyish half-smile, pocketing his hands.

"No! It's really very sweet. Thank you." Dominic crosses his arms, staring at the kitchen tiles. "I'm glad you came."

Billy hesitates. "There's more."

"What?"

Billy maneuvers his shoulderbag up over his head and down to the floor, and opens the flap. At least ten DVDs peek out at Dominic from inside. Billy pulls all of them out in a huge stack and offers them up to him.

Dominic considers the situation and his own state of filth, and makes a quick decision. "...Why don't you stay?"

"No no, really, I just came to drop this off. You need your rest." Billy stays on his knees as he closes the bag, and Dominic stares at the streaks of rainwater going down his neck into the collar of his peacoat.

"No, really, stay. Unless you're afraid of catching the plague."

Billy looks up at him. "...Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Someone needs to explain what I'm watching to me."

Billy laughs. "I purposely chose movies that don't need explaining. Nothing too serious and nothing too funny. Easier on your body, that way." Dominic coughs, as if on cue. "Christ, you sound terrible." Billy takes off his one glove and moves into Dominic's space instinctively, wrapping his hands around the back of his neck and pressing his thumbs to the underside of his jaw, feeling for his lymph nodes. Dominic closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, wheezing a bit. Billy is amazed again at how much of a chameleon Dom is; he can't believe how young he looks today, eyes watery, nose red and swollen, like that perpetually tough, all-knowing exterior completely eroded overnight. More than slightly overwhelmed, Billy speaks quietly. "You're definitely not going back to work until you get better. Yeah?"

"Mm," Dominic answers, opening his eyes but pointedly avoiding Billy's gaze.

Billy knew coming here that Dominic had had a client this weekend, and he wants to know if that still came through, itches to know, but he doesn't ask. He's not even sure what really possessed him to come here, especially considering that; his better judgment told him to leave well enough alone. But there's something about Dominic that brings him out of character, makes him do irrationally stupid things, and as a result of that, they now have to move around each other in this flat, the place they first met, the place they first touched each other. He knows he won't be able to stop thinking about it. He can't say the same for Dominic--Billy's not the only one he's ever brought here, far from it.

Billy clears his throat. "Why don't you go take a shower? It usually helps with--" He gestures vaguely at Dominic's nose.

Dominic has already started moving toward the bathroom. "You don't mind?"

"No, go ahead. I'll get this ready." Billy watches him disappear down the hall, then turns to the unfamiliar space of Dominic's kitchen. Just from quickly poking around the cabinets for a bowl and a spoon, he realizes that Dom must be a bit of a cook himself; he finds a plethora of spices, some fairly intense-looking cookware, and, eventually, a shoebox filled with recipes in Dom's handwriting.

He decides to warm the soup up on the stovetop rather than in the microwave and searches for tea in the meantime. Of course, he finds loose English leaves. Billy smiles, feeling instantly warm. He doesn't really have many friends in Boston who he can say are cut from the same cloth as him, let alone friends who are actually from the UK. Dominic is quickly becoming this comforting reminder of home for Billy that he's already unwilling to give up. Despite their history, he feels that they can be great friends, if they try hard enough.

Billy relaxes into the counter as he waits on the tea and the soup. He thinks of Dominic's eyes just a few minutes ago, how blue they'd been, and his sweet, unabashed smile when Billy walked through the door. Billy knows he'll never tire of trying to pinpoint the formula for Dominic's appeal, that combination of total innocence and total grit. The night of the lecture, he'd found himself wondering if kissing Dom would leave traces of both sugar and sand underneath his tongue.

Suddenly inspired, he peruses the kitchen cabinets again, this time for honey and bread for toast. It's then that Dominic returns, freshly showered and thankfully a bit pinker than before. Billy smiles at his attire: thick flannel drawstring pants and a faded grey sweatshirt with ENGLAND blazoned across the chest. "Feel better?" Dominic simply nods and Billy turns back to the soup, stirring with care. "You were holding out on me. _You_ cook."

Dominic is bashful. "Yeah, I do. It's hard to find the time, though. My schedule's a bit erratic, as you might imagine." He pulls at sections of his hair from the roots, testing their dampness. "Orli and I do a lot of takeout." He steps gingerly forward to peer over Billy's shoulder. "Need any help?"

" _No._ " Billy actually shoos him away. "Go lay down." Dominic lingers for a moment, letting the aroma fill what's left of his nostrils. Billy gives him a firm look. "For fuck's sake. Go pick a film. I'll take care of this."

"Okay," Dominic laughs, shuffling to the living room in blessedly clean socks. On his way, he notices Billy's trainers by the door and his coat hanging on a hook there, and he smiles at the utter domesticity of the situation. He can feel himself falling quickly into the comfort of it; already, he wants this, wants this all the time, Billy sharing his space, even more of his things strewn about, bringing a piece of him to every room.

He makes himself comfortable on the futon and rifles through Billy's DVDs, settling on a juicy-looking black-and-white number called _Double Indemnity_.

Billy enters shortly thereafter, balancing a bowl of soup, a plate of toast, and a teacup and saucer. Dominic jumps up immediately to assist. "Thank you. God, that smells fantastic. I don't think I've eaten since breakfast yesterday."

"Good," Billy smiles, holding his hands out, poised for further action. "Do you want anything else?"

"I'm confused," Dominic answers through a mouthful of toast. "Aren't you supposed to be _my_ guest?" Billy laughs, settling in beside him. "You don't want any tea or anything?"

" _No._ I had a huge breakfast this morning, so I'm good."

"Why not rub it in, you bastard?" Dominic reaches for the remote and presses PLAY.

Billy cackles. "...Is Orlando home? Will we be bothering him?"

Dominic turns to him with wide eyes, still slightly shocked that he's actually here. "Um, no. He's dead to the world. He won't be up 'til four or five."

"...Rough night?"

"You could say that." Dominic's laughter quickly turns to a cough, and Billy looks amused.

"Alright. No more talking for you."

The ominous opening music of _Double Indemnity_ starts, and Dominic tries to concentrate on the images rather than on the potent coffee smell that seems to follow Billy like his own trail of smoke. "Wow, look at the lighting in this." He takes a big spoonful of Billy's soup into his mouth, reveling in the way it burns a path down his aching throat.

"Yeah. Thought you'd like that. How's the soup?"

"Great. Thank you." Billy seems to get a bit lost in the screen, his eyes glazing over, and Dominic makes a valiant effort to do the same. He's never seen a film like this, but he's seen plenty of films that make fun of films like this, with their cynical detectives and their hyperbolic gritty voiceover.

"This is supposed to be the quintessential noir film," Billy explains, as if reading Dominic's mind. "The genre started after World War Two, and it was inspired by how morally confused everything was in America at that time. That's why the characters are all so jaded and can never quite seem to get their bearings--they don't recognize the world they live in. 'S why the lighting is so shadowy, too." Dominic nods, interested. "But a lot of the lighting techniques had their origin in German expressionism, which was a response to World War One. So it's sort of cyclical, that way." Billy runs a hand through his hair, embarrassed. "'M sorry. Just tell me to shut my gob. I finished my dissertation, but my brain hasn't seemed to realize it yet."

Dominic gives Billy an amused grin before turning back to the screen with renewed interest. When the leading man muses, _How could I have known that murder can sometimes smell like honeysuckle?_ , Dominic nearly spits out his tea.

"I know, it's cheesy," Billy apologizes. "It's a really good film, though, I promise."

Once the femme fatale enters, the dialogue reaches a new level of ridiculousness, and before long, Dominic is nearly in tears.

Billy laughs right along with him. "So much for not picking a comedy." He quickly pauses the film to allow for Dom's subsequent coughing fit.

Oddly enough, the over-the-top writing only works to pull Dominic further into the plot. The big murder scene is exquisitely suspenseful, and before long, he finds that he's nearly forgotten Billy's presence, or at least gotten comfortable with it. He lets out one big, resounding cough, and winces, trying to rub at his left shoulder blade. He doesn't know if it's the illness, the way he slept last night, or a combination of both, but it's fucking killing him now, and he can't ignore it.

"Sore?" Billy asks quietly, not wanting to disrupt his film trance.

Dominic grunts, working at the pain. "Can't get comfortable, can't sleep, that kind of thing. Plus, I slept here most of the night." He indicates the futon.

Billy turns his attention away from the screen momentarily, putting two and two together. It seems he doesn't really have to ask how it went with the Rhode Island boys. Before he can think twice about it, he's reaching out and replacing Dom's hand with his own. "Here?"

Dominic freezes and swallows, every nerve ending in his body suddenly rushing to where the heel of Billy's hand is rubbing circles into his skin. His sweatshirt is thick, but not thick enough to detract from the feeling. "'S perfect," he mutters, relaxing a bit and letting his head fall forward.

"There it is," Billy whispers, finding the knot in Dom's shoulder with his thumb. He works at it with slow, methodical strokes.

Dominic becomes acutely aware of every sensation going on in his living room, from the rain on the windows to the hum of the telly to his own breathing to Billy's fingers pressing into his shoulder and his arm lightly draped across his back. The film is suddenly incidental again. He expects Billy to stop at a certain point--there is a standard duration for a friendly massage, after all--and when he doesn't, Dominic decides to do something potentially risky. He scoots back to sit properly on the futon, slowly so as not to deter Billy, and lets out an exaggerated yawn.

Yes, it's juvenile, but it's all he's got.

In under half a minute, he's got his head on Billy's shoulder and Billy's arm around him.

Billy immediately stops massaging his shoulder, opting to rest his hand there, utterly still. He doesn't think he's ever paid less attention to _Double Indemnity_ in all his years of watching it.

"I still have your other glove," Dominic remembers aloud, and it vibrates through Billy's shoulder.

"Mm." Billy tries to concentrate on the sound of his own breath. He can feel his body starting to come alive in that way it only does when someone he's this attracted to touches him. And Dom is so _warm_ right now, and his clothes and his hair are so soft, and his fingertips are brushing Billy's thigh a bit where they're curled up in his lap with the blanket. Billy can feel his own body going heavy as Dominic's does. He speaks in a near-whisper. "Dom? Y'can go to sleep if you want. I don't have to stay."

Dominic loves the way Billy's voice sounds when it's right there next to him like that, even if it's not full-voiced. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like. Naturally, he doesn't answer; he just breathes slowly and pretends to be on his way to sleep. Billy gives a warm little laugh that tickles at his temple.

In just a couple of minutes, Billy's matched Dominic's breathing, and Dominic is pretty sure that he's actually on his way to sleep as opposed to just feigning it. He struggles to consciously keep his own breath deep and steady; feeling their bodies rising and falling in tandem is oddly arousing. A part of his brain that's clearly insane wonders what Billy would do if he just moved his hand those last few inches and crept it under the waistband of his denims. He stares at the impression of Billy's button-fly under his jumper, that familiar bunched up ridge, and does a full-body jerk when Billy lets out a snore.

Dominic lifts his head and bites his lip to keep from laughing at what he sees: Billy's head has fallen back as far as it can go and his mouth hangs open, releasing quiet snores into the air. He looks absolutely ridiculous. Dominic openly stares, thankful for this privilege--it's one he didn't get their last time in his flat together--and amazed that Billy can fall asleep so quickly. It's clear from today's visit that he's fantastic at taking care of others, but Dominic wonders how well Billy bothers to take care of himself. He obviously still hasn't caught up on his sleep.

He should put his head back on Billy's shoulder and just close his eyes, keep up the charade, but he feels too guilty; it's his fault Billy's passed out on his futon. With awfully reluctant hands, he pushes himself up to stand and urges Billy down onto his side, laying properly. He almost laughs out loud again when Billy doesn't protest or even crack an eye at the disturbance.

Once Billy's supine, the snoring stops, and his body adjusts itself in sleep to a comfortable position, arms bent and hands folded loosely by his cheek in an almost theatrical mimicry of sleep.

The walls of Dominic's flat have seen quite a bit, but nothing nearly as lovely as this.

Dominic unwraps the afghan from around his shoulders and drapes it over Billy, appreciating the stillness of the moment. Sometimes he feels like the world has been moving too fast around him, like it forgot about him (or he forgot about it). Like the Earth's big blue-green mouth spat him into another galaxy. He can't remember when or how it happened. It's like what he was thinking last night, about time, and how it hasn't really behaved the way it should for him over the last few years. When he looks at Billy, though, it all stops. He can feel the minutes expanding and unfolding just the way they should. He finally feels _here_.

He contemplates breaking the spell, albeit momentarily, so he can go down the hall to his room and retrieve his camera. He needs to capture this: his living room wrapped up in a rainy blanket, the remnants of tea and soup scattered on the coffee table, and Billy curled up in a peaceful slumber, the black-and-white glow of the TV illuminating his features as Water Neff bleeds to death on screen.

 

  


 

 

  



	17. Boston (26 & 27, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy faces his fantasy and Dominic faces his reality.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Billy faces his fantasy and Dominic faces his reality.  


**SCENE 26. - INT. BILLY'S FLAT - THAT NIGHT**

He hasn't been through the door five minutes before he's fumbling with his belt. The long train ride home and all the tramping through the rain to and from stations didn't manage to help the tingling in his body subside; if anything, it's somehow gotten worse since he left Dominic's. Before it'd just been at the main points of contact--where Dom's side had been pressed all along his own, where his hair had tickled the bare skin of his neck, where his fingers had brushed the seam of his jeans--but now it's expanded to include all the areas Dominic neglected, the ones for which the Dominic in Billy's head is now atoning.

It's more awkward than it's been physically, lately, with his thick, rain-heavy coat barely undone and his damp denims clinging stubbornly to his thighs, but this time Billy has a mad urgency on his side, and it makes all the difference. His fingers are cold and wet, yes, even a bit pruned as they wrap around his cock, and his nose is running a bit, whether from Dom or the weather, he's not sure. His sniffles echo through the hallway and bounce back at him.

Billy sucks in his breath and holds it, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to be back here, not yet. Behind his eyelids, he's still at Dominic's place, on his couch, laying there like this afternoon, only awake and on his back.

There's no continuity, no narrative or banter even, just flashes, sensations, and sometimes a whisper. Dominic slithers up Billy's body/Dominic sucks on his neck/Billy fists the hair at the back of his head/the rain gets louder. Dominic braces himself on both hands, pulling the skin at Billy's shoulder between his teeth.

The fantasy is soft-focus and languid, a sharp contrast to the movement of Billy's hand. The air expels from his mouth in a rush and he sucks it back into his lungs almost immediately, holding it there except for the nearly inaudible staccato pants that go high in the back of his throat. His left hand scratches at the wet, unyielding denim above his knee.

In his head, he's reaching between their bodies with both hands to unbuckle Dominic's belt, lowering his fly tooth by tooth, and feeling for that familiar velvet skin with a certainty he knows wouldn't be there if this very scenario were happening right now, in his hallway. At the first touch, Dominic exhales heavily and smiles. He licks his lips and tosses the hair out of his eyes, exactly as he did that first time. _How's that?_ Billy teases, and Dominic moans in reply. They finally come nose to nose as Billy starts to lazily bring him off.

It's worse, knowing what it actually feels like, to have Dom's breath against his lips, his eyes so close and penetrating. Billy's not sure if he'll ever get the smell and taste of him out of his sense memory.

Dominic starts to push into Billy's hand shamelessly, his hips fluid, feline, and gorgeous. He nuzzles Billy's cheek and groans into his skin, pleading in a breathy whisper, _Billy, fuck me. Please, I need you._

There's a jump cut here, as always, to skip out on the boring, necessary stuff, like Billy losing his own pants, et cetera. So the image cuts from them breathing into each other to Dominic straddling Billy, raised on his knees just enough so Billy can curl two fingers into him from underneath. Dominic's hands splay on Billy's chest as he rocks ever so slightly back onto his haunches, inhaling on the way back. His eyes are dark and dilated when they're open, fluttering when Billy pushes deeper. _Now_ , he demands, leaning forward onto his hands, and there's another jump cut, and then they are, Billy's rolling his hips up into him and Dominic's pulling at his chest hair distractedly. Billy wraps his fingers around Dominic's waist and pulls him down, making them both gasp-- _Fucking Christ, that's good, that's so good_ , so Billy does it again, and again, and again. Dominic licks his lips, closes his eyes, and palms his own chest, letting Billy dictate the rhythm for them both. Billy lets one hand creep up to finger a deep pinkish brown nipple, his other hand going tighter and unrelenting around Dom's waist. _Mmnnfuck._ Dominic grasps Billy's fingers and pulls the longest three up to his mouth, pushing them past his lips and curling his tongue around the tips.

This is where the image stutters and Billy's hand follows suit, and the frustration intervenes. Billy bites his lip, sliding down the wall as he tries desperately to hold onto the fantasy, or at least his orgasm. He can visualize Dominic, but everytime he tries to touch him, the image flickers or dissolves. It doesn't take long for him to ditch it out of desperation, opting to just focus on the feel of his palm and his fingers and the wetness and the friction, the frantic, filthy sound of it.

His mind is completely blank when he tenses up and comes, and it's, well, anticlimactic. He feels disappointed, more in himself than in the release. He wipes his hand haphazardly on his already sopping jeans and buttons his fly with deft fingers, as if doing so quickly with his eyes averted will erase the last five minutes from his memory.

*

**SCENE 27. - INT./EXT. THE BRATTLE THEATER - WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON**

When the screen cuts to black and the credits roll, Dominic literally flinches in his seat. He'd settled so deeply into the world of _La mala educación_ , with its beautifully unfamiliar words and oversaturated colors, that seeing it end is like emerging from under water. He looks around, surprised to find himself in a theater, albeit a nearly empty one, save a few seniors and students. When he pushes through the exit door at the back, he's left even more disoriented by the onslaught of flourescent light and the scent of artificial butter. He clings stubbornly to the music, the images, the people he's just left behind, but they're already beginning to crumble and fall out of his head like parts of an elaborate dream.

As he's assaulted a few short minutes later by the loud, erratic movement of Harvard Square, Dominic can't help but smile and welcome the brisk air. Normally he dreads this time of year, where the cold seems to hit you right in the marrow, but today it feels fantastic, mostly because he can finally breathe it in properly. Plus he feels as if he's just taken part in something romantic, religious even, and he's tempted to call Billy to thank him for the experience.

Dominic manages to keep his itching fingers from his mobile, but the trade-off is that he allows himself to indulge in some Billy-related giddiness. He reflects on the weekend--the soup, the movies, just Billy filling the space around him with his energy and light and scent. The more dangerous Dominic tells himself all this is, letting himself feel these things, the more he can't help but fling himself into it. He'd never admit to anyone, not even Orli, that he's found himself wandering into cafes, seeking nothing but the overwhelming coffee smell that seeps through Billy's skin and clings to his sweaters. Even though Dominic will never drink the vile shite, he'll get drunk off of that aroma to his content.

He tries to remember their first meeting, so he can contrast it with this weekend, chart their progress or regress, he can never decide which. But that memory, like the film he's just seen, has begun to fall away in the face of the present. He can remember certain feelings it gave him very clearly, but he can't recapture them, and he'll never be able to see Billy the way he did that first time.

When he turns onto the main stretch of the square, he finally realizes just how crowded the streets are, with holiday shoppers, tourists, and students with suitcases preparing to leave. He decides he'll pop into the big newsstand for more tobacco, and almost stops in the middle of the street when his eyes catch who's standing just to the side of the door, having a smoke himself. No name comes to mind, but the face and stature are unmistakeable: this is a former client. Not a regular, but someone Dominic's seen more than once, multiple times in a brief period, if he remembers correctly. His profession isn't the best for being forgetful of clients--hence the blue journal--but how can be be expected to remember everyone when it's been so fucking long and there've been so many?

Dominic averts his eyes and doesn't falter one bit, walking resolutely toward the door like he hasn't even registered the guy's standing there. They both inhale, though, as he passes, and it's obvious that they've both recognized each other. Ensconsed in the warmth of the shop, Dominic smiles, wondering if Billy has this kind of dilemma with former students seeking recommendations. He turns to the cashier, grin intact, and asks for a pack of tobacco from the coveted area behind the counter. He fumbles with his wallet as the bells on the door chime again but doesn't give in to the urge to look up at the new intruder. He doesn't have to, anyway; that presence, the way he takes his time passing Dominic, is more than enough.

It isn't long before Dominic's annoyed. He would never expect to see this guy here, especially not in the middle of the day, and so clearly cruising him. _Can it be called "cruising" when there's money involved?_ he thinks bitterly. Anyway, he's not on the job, so what does he care?

He takes his change--"Thank you"--and sends an additional thanks up to God for putting a second door in this place, so he can bypass this bastard without a second look. He fears hearing a call to him from behind, but it doesn't come, and he walks back out into the cold feeling cleaner than before. It's the first time he's dodged a potential customer when there's been no danger to his own life. And he doesn't care.

 


	18. Boston (28/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Dominic do take-out again.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Billy and Dominic do take-out again.  


**SCENE 28. - INT. BILLY'S FLAT - THURSDAY EVENING**

It's quite possibly the laziest day Billy's had in four years, on record. He'd allowed himself a lie-in until ten, followed by a gluttonous breakfast at the diner across the street (a morning tradition he'd started after completing his grading the week before) and a thorough read of _The Globe_ , something for which he hasn't had the luxury or the attention span since the summer. To his credit, he'd walked around the neighborhood for a bit afterward, as the sky was blue and sunny, even if there was only a high of thirty-two.

He'd intended on going to Suffolk straight from there, but his heavy legs and full stomach had somehow compelled him back to his flat, where he'd collapsed on the couch for a two-hour nap. His dissertation defense is just after the new year, and he has a few new sources to seek out, and he'd really like to do so before the holiday so he can actually enjoy it. But it seems that he can only get things done when he has too much to do, while when there's just one stubborn little task to accomplish, it stays resolutely on the back burner. (Not to mention that the idea of stepping back into that dark, depressing library so soon makes him shudder.)

Billy feels so proud, so accomplished for having finished the fucking manuscript at all with Sherlock constantly looking over his shoulder, it's too tempting to just lie back and enjoy it. Besides, he's got Dominic coming over in the early evening for dinner and maybe a movie, and it seems wrong to fill the time in between with anything substantial.

With a little over an hour to spare, Billy steps into a long, almost unbearably hot shower and doesn't think too hard about what he'll put on when he's done. He wants to be careful, to develop a solid friendship with Dom without developing feelings, but he has no idea what the proper protocol is in this kind of situation (who would?), and it's been so long since he's dated anyone that he has no idea how to _not_ date someone. Anyway, he enjoys spending time with Dominic more than anyone he's met in this often lonely city, and he's not going to deny himself that companionship. _Even if it means a desperate, compulsive wank every once in a while._

When he emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a thick towel, he finds his cat right outside the door, giving him the _It's time to feed me_ look. He smiles and gives her a scritch behind the ear. "I know. Give me a minute, love. Just need to get dressed." Billy gives a passing look to the kitchen and living room, continuing to sing-song half to himself and half to the cat all the tidying up he needs to do before Dominic gets there.

He pulls on a pair of jeans a bit too worn to even be class appropriate and a dark grey t-shirt that he takes a brief moment to admire for what it does for his chest and back. He rolls his eyes at himself and shuffles into the kitchen to feed the cat. "The fuck am I doing."

Billy is standing restlessly in the middle of his bedroom when the intercom buzzes. When Dominic materializes at his door a minute or so later, it's with an armful of takeout. "Now I get to be the one with the bag," he smiles.

"You sneaky bastard," Billy accuses, stepping aside to let him in. "How much do I owe?"

"Nothing." Dominic's voice is firm, but he remains by the front door as if waiting for permission to proceed. "Should I take my shoes off or...?"

Billy shakes his head vehemently, disposing Dominic of the big brown paper bag. "You brought me food, you can do whatever you want."

Dominic toes off his trainers, surreptitiously peering past Billy into his flat. "I think I got the order right."

Instantly intrigued, Billy pushes the top of the bag open and peers inside. He fiddles with the pile of white cartons, deciphering their contents. "My God. How did you remember all that?"

"Photographic memory. I have a clear vision of you picking all the mushrooms out of your shrimp fried rice."

Billy tries not to be touched at that, as it brings back a memory he's been too busy trying to forget, but his voice and his smile can't help going a bit soft as he beckons Dominic further inside. "You sound much better," he calls over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. "How do you feel?"

Dominic is too preoccupied with taking his fill of Billy's flat to answer right away. His eyes linger on a framed movie poster in the hallway: _Les 400 Coups_. "Fantastic, compared to last week," he eventually calls back. From just this cursory examination, Dominic knows that Billy's place isn't any nicer than his and Orli's, but it's certainly better kept. Granted, he and Orli couldn't have been expected to do much better for a contract without a preliminary credit check.

He jumps and nearly squeals when he feels something soft and insistent brush against his leg, but his face breaks into a huge, toothy smile when he looks down at the perpetrator. " _Hi, you._ " The big, furry, creamsicle-colored creature rubs its face against his knees when he crouches to its level. "Hi."

"You've met Erin, then." Billy leans on the hallway arch, arms crossed over his chest.

"I had no idea you had a cat." Said cat rolls onto her back and twists about, a tacit plea for Dominic to pet her belly. He obliges and she purrs, her eyes squinting shut in contentment. He drops his voice again. "Hi, Erin. You're a gorgeous one, aren't you?"

"I wanted a dog," Billy explains, "but I couldn't commit to it with the hours I keep at Suffolk. Especially all the time I spent at the library this past semester. Cats are more self-sufficient. And she grew on me." He comes forward and joins Dominic on the floor, petting where he can't reach. "Besides, she's nearly as big as a dog."

"Bigger than some, I think," Dominic laughs.

Billy can't help but notice how much more natural Dom's hands look caressing Erin. When he draws them away, allowing Billy to take over, she notices, and she is not happy about it. Both orangey front paws grab for his hand and, rather than take the hint, Dominic bats at them playfully, teasing her. She leaps to her feet, defiantly pushing her little pink nose against his hands, reveling in the sharp edges of his rings and the rough give of his leather bands.

"Wow, she really likes you." Billy stands with a grunt. "She's never this friendly."

Dominic raises his eyes to Billy, letting Erin continue her ministrations. "I've a way with women, what can I say?"

"Should I leave you two alone?" Erin purrs loudly at this, apparently in agreement. Billy looks affronted, and Dominic laughs. "You filthy minx. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Dominic rises gracefully to his feet, leaving Erin to wind around and through his legs. "Can I have a tour?"

"Are you sure? It's a short one." Dominic shrugs and bounces on the balls of his feet, his eyes bright. "Okay. Let's see if I can do this without moving." Billy pivots in the direction from which they came. "You saw the kitchen." He gestures grandly to the room next to it, mostly visible from where they're standing in the hallway. "That's the living room." He about-faces and reaches inside an open door to flick a light switch. "Bathroom." Dominic peers through the opening, amused. Billy shuts the light and points shyly at the other end of the hall. "And my room. That's it."

A look that's not a little mischievous creeps across Dominic's face before he starts walking backwards toward the main attraction.

"Go ahead." Billy gives him a playful shove and hangs back, mouthing the cuticle of his thumb.

Predictably, Erin follows Dominic into Billy's room.

Dominic's first observation floats through the open doorway not a moment later. "Wow. You're so _neat_."

"I think my birthday's to blame for that," Billy calls out, shuffling quickly into the room. Dominic turns, looking at him expectantly. "Virgo," he clarifies.

Dominic smiles and nods. He's a bit of a child in his curiosity, Billy notices, touching several objects on his dresser and shelves to test their texture. He skips over most of the books and academic journals, however—in fact, he almost recoils from them. "That reminds me. You never answered my question: how old are you?"

"Thirty-three."

Dominic's eyes go comically wide. "You're fucking with me, right?"

"Unfortunately, no." Billy peruses his own shelves, trying to see how they might be perceived by a new pair of eyes.

"How is that possible? Look at your face. Do you have a fountain of youth in your shower?"

"I found a few greys the other day, if it makes you feel any better."

Dominic feels as if he's hit the jackpot when his eyes fall on the cork board above Billy's desk. The first thing he notices amongst the plethora of photos, documents, and random bits of paper is a program from the HFA lecture. "What happened to the, um..." He motions to where Billy's facial hair should be. "I liked that look on you, at the lecture."

"Thanks," Billy laughs. "It wasn't intentional."

"Oh, I see." Dominic continues taking his fill of the cork board collage, smiling at the many variations of the Scottish flag and the photos of a woman who is obviously Billy's sister with children who are obviously Billy's nieces and nephews. He _thinks_ he remembers her name from their conversation at the bar last week. "...Maggie?"

"Yeah." Billy's voice is high and cheerful. He recognizes the start of that slow, exciting bloom that happens when he lets someone new into his life. It's an experience he hasn't had—or, rather, hasn't allowed himself to have—in an appallingly long time, probably not since Elijah. He wonders how much he'll learn about Dom's family, his childhood, his life, if anything. At this point, Dominic's like a live, moving film for Billy, something sent to simultaneously enchant and confuse him. As with any good film, he'll keep searching for Dom's key, that special language needed to understand him, never accepting that perhaps he's incapable of finding it.

"Who's this?" Dominic points to a photo in the bottom lefthand corner of the board, almost but not quite covered up by other things.

Billy hesitates. He really hadn't realized it was still up there. "That's Braedan."

Dominic senses story after story contained, just by the way Billy's voice buoys the guy's name.

"We were together, at home, and then for a bit in New York."

"Oh." _Oh._ Dominic looks closer at the man standing next to Billy in the picture and instantly starts making up a backstory in his head. Billy doesn't help matters by staying so eerily silent behind him, letting the air fill with possibilities.

Braedan couldn't be more different from Dominic, physically. He has at least half a foot on Billy, for one thing, and for another, he's conventionally attractive. His features are Celtic and understated, like Billy's, and put together just so underneath striking dark hair. In the photo, he has his arms crossed—sizable arms, at that—and is looking down at his feet, laughing. Billy stands beside him, his nose also crinkled up in laughter, only his eyes are fixed on Braedan. They're against a brick wall in a cobbled alley, whether it's Glasgow or New York, Dominic can't tell. He's never been to either city.

"Kind of gorgeous," Dominic ventures, mostly just to break the silence. He tries to look as if he's not memorizing the guy's face.

Billy clears his throat and moves to the other side of the room, giving his attention to a large, impressive bookshelf. "Come on, this is the best part of the tour."

Dominic pivots in place and his jaw instantly drops. He slowly approaches the unit with reverence. "I don't think I've ever seen so many movies in one place in my life." The first five shelves are filled with doubled-up rows of DVDs, while the bottom contains some rare VHS and LDs. "How's it organized?"

"By year." Billy is mock-smug.

Dominic crouches to look at the silent films on the second-to-last shelf. "This is incredible," he breathes. "Why do you ever leave your flat again?"

"Have to eat, I suppose," Billy shrugs, looking at his own collection with slight awe. Contrary to what Dominic likely believes, he often forgets that he owns most of what's there. He notices Dom pull a DVD from its place, his eyes scanning the still on the cover. _The Gold Rush._ He can't help but feel touched again by Dom's memory. "Speaking of. I'll go heat up the food." He forces himself out of the room and back into the kitchen.

"You know, I went to see a movie by myself, yesterday," Dominic calls to him. "'Scuse me, a _film_."

Billy lets out a delighted laugh. "Really? What'd you see?" He struggles to hear Dominic over the crinkling of the paper bag as he empties its contents onto the counter.

" _Bad Education._ " Dominic doesn't trust himself to pronounce the Spanish title properly.

"Oh, that's right. They're doing that series at the Brattle. What'd you think?"

Dominic slowly makes his way back toward the direction of Billy's voice. "It was fantastic, going alone." He stops in the middle of the hallway, taking a longer moment with the French movie poster. "Like giving a gift to myself." He hears a laugh from Billy, then a series of microwave beeps.

"What'd you think of the film?"

Dominic hesitates. "Have you seen it?"

"Yeah, back when it came out, I think."

Dominic bites his lip and fiddles with his cuffs, thinking.

"You don't have to impress me, Dom, I'm just curious," Billy calls from inside—perceptively.

Dominic smiles to himself, letting his fingertips graze the far wall on his way to the kitchen. "I loved it. Especially the scenes in the Catholic school. Brought back some fun memories."

"Yeah, those were my favorites."

Dominic finds himself quickly getting comfortable. He takes his time shedding his leather jacket in the middle of the living room, then tosses it onto the couch, eyeing some of the books and magazines on the coffee table.

When Billy reenters with the food, he finds Dominic lounging with Erin decadently sprawled in his lap, a copy of _American Cinematographer_ laid out next to them. Dominic raises his eyes from the page with a wry smile. "I'd get up and help you, but."

"You'll have to live here now. I don't think she's moving." Billy sets the food down on the coffee table and claps his hands at the cat. "Come on, you."

She merely gives Billy an impetuous look. Dominic throws his head back and laughs.

Billy points at the floor. "Up, up, _up_." Seeing that he means business, Erin finally springs off of Dom's lap and struts over to the recliner on the other side of the room. "Fucking cat." Billy drops himself onto the couch and hands Dominic a fork.

"Thanks." Dominic's only a bite in when he realizes what's propped up in the corner next to the TV: an acoustic guitar. " _Mm._ " He rushes through chewing and swallows. "Do you play?"

Billy follows Dominic's eyes and shrugs, going a bit pink.

"I'm not leaving until you play me something. You know that, right?"

"Go ahead, set up shop here. I don't care."

That this is the second joke Billy's made about Dominic moving in with him doesn't go unnoticed by Dominic, much as he tries. If he were with anyone else, he might respond with a joke about becoming a houseboy, but here he simply smiles and tucks into his plate full-force.

"Taken any pictures this week?"

Dominic's smile goes uncontrollably wider. He takes a napkin to the corners of his mouth. "Not since I saw you."

His grin doesn't fade, and Billy finds himself susceptible to its contagiousness. Dominic has a secret floating around in his head, but Billy won't push, for now. Instead, he lets his eyes rove the angles of him, from jaw to shoulders to knees. "I don't think I've had someone over in months. It's nice."

"I can't remember the last time I _didn't_ have someone over." Dominic pauses to pull his sweater over his head, revealing a simple white undershirt.

Billy gives him an apologetic look. "Sorry, they can never get the heat right in here." He thinks of what Dom's just said and sighs. "I have a question for you. Another job-related question." Dominic merely looks up. "...How do you do what you do all the time?"

Dominic might be offended by that if Billy didn't sound so genuinely curious rather than judgmental.

"I mean," he continues, "how do you... work yourself up to it?"

At this, Dominic is instantly mollified—and amused. "You mean, how do I get it up?"

Billy lets out a rush of a sigh. "Basically, yeah."

"Um." Dominic takes a swig of beer and wipes his fingers with a napkin. "Well. I look at the person, and I try to find what's beautiful or intriguing about them." He raises his eyes from his lap and, predictably, they penetrate. "It's not that hard, most of the time." Dominic's voice goes soft around the edges. "Everyone has something."

Billy's not prepared to go the places his mind wants to with that little tidbit.

"And when that doesn't work," Dom's voice goes hard and gravelly again, "I imagine it's someone else."

"I see," Billy laughs.

Dominic looks at him expectantly, and when Billy doesn't follow up on the question, he tilts his head, playful. "You thinking of taking up the trade?"

Billy's mouth stutters on the neck of his beer bottle, curling in amusement. "'M not sure I've got the talent for it." He gives Dominic a reassuring look. "Don't worry, I'm not asking what you saw in me. Or didn't."

Dominic's heart races a bit at how much that remark strikes it. He'd like nothing more than to answer that question, if he knew Billy had any interest in hearing what he had to say. There's an acute sense of loss that builds and builds in the quiet seconds that follow, until the moment is decidedly gone.

"I have another question for you."

"No, I don't give lessons?"

Billy laughs. "No." He uses food as a stalling measure for nearly half a minute before finally opening his mouth again. "What are you doing for Christmas? Are you going home?"

"No, I haven't been home since I left."

"...Really?"

Dominic nods.

Billy can't tell whether or not this is a point of sensitivity for Dom, so he presses on, keeping his tone light. "Have your parents—?"

"No. I keep in touch with them as much as I have to, I guess. My mum, anyway." Dominic's face has gone stoic. "I make sure she knows I'm alright, but that's about it."

Billy nods. He'd figured as much. It doesn't make him feel any less sad, though. "...And your dad?"

Dominic shrugs. "She lets him know how I'm doing. But as far as he and I are concerned, he can go fuck himself." He looks up with a sarcastic grin.

Billy gives him a tiny smile. "Got it." He looks at Dom hopefully. "More on that later?"

"If you want. Sure." Dominic shrugs again, but the truth is he feels incredibly flattered that Billy's interested at all. He's not sure he's had the opportunity to tell anyone these things in a while, not since last year at the very least. "Why did you ask? What I'm doing for Christmas."

"Um. 'M not sure how forward this is. But... Lij's family lives in Northampton, and he invites me home for all the holidays. The ones I celebrate, anyway. He's invited Orlando too this year—I don't know if he's told you—"

Dominic shakes his head, at a loss.

"—but Lij says you're more than welcome," Billy finishes. "I know it's really short notice. We'd be leaving Sunday, but we're only staying through Wednesday, day after Christmas." It's no surprise when Dominic looks completely overwhelmed. "I know you don't know Lij very well, but his mum's incredibly sweet, and she lives alone with he and his sister gone. She loves having a house full of people, and she's a fantastic host. There's not much to do in Northampton, but it's great if you're looking to relax." Dominic still looks speechless. "To be honest, this is a completely selfish proposition. You can't leave me alone with those two. I'll go fucking crazy."

Dominic laughs, a little breathless. Though he has all sorts of reservations about the situation, he quickly pushes them aside and lets his heart take over the decision-making. _Four days and three nights in a house with Billy._ "Sounds like fun."

"Are you sure? If you have somewhere else you'd rather be, I understand."

"I have nowhere else to be, Billy."

 

 


	19. Fic: Boston (29 & 30, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominic goes to class, and the trip to Northampton begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry so short! There will be a lengthy Northampton montage next to make up for it.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Dominic goes to class, and the trip to Northampton begins.  
 **Note:** Sorry so short! There will be a lengthy Northampton montage next to make up for it.  


**SCENE 29. - INT. THE OAK SQUARE YMCA - SATURDAY MORNING**

Dominic feels a rush of exhilaration as he pushes through the double glass doors at the front of the building. He hasn't even reached the third floor of the Y yet, but it's been two whole weeks since his last class, so it feels a bit like coming home—if his actual home were so welcoming—and well worth the trip.

He's already fumbling for the flap of his camera case as he enters the mostly empty room ten minutes early. His teacher, Gail, a stylishly understated woman of about forty, is visible through the open doorway at the back, standing in the adjacent room with a glass to a contact sheet, probably her own (though terribly dedicated to her students, she's made it clear just how often she mines the facilities for her own purposes). She doesn't have to lift her eyes from the magnifier to know it's Dominic who's just walked in.

"Dom, we missed you last weekend." Her voice is somewhat detached and precise but still warm, as always.

"Hi, Gail. Sorry, I was really sick," he calls to her. He drops into a seat next to his class friend Keisha, the only one there at that point, albeit out of eight. He nudges her shoulder with his.

"Hey stranger," she drawls, barely looking up from the viewscreen of her own camera. "What's up."

He stretches his neck to peer around her busily clicking hands. "Whatcha got going on there?"

She leans closer to him instinctively but doesn't slow her pace. "My sister's wedding last weekend. I'm not happy with them."

"...Not happy with the pictures or not happy with that hideous green thing she has you wearing?"

Keisha kicks him under the table. "Get yours out, dickhead." She speeds through the last twenty or so, then finally brings her full attention to Dominic, batting her eyelashes at him.

"The beauty of photographing nature," he explains, extricating his camera, "is no innocent people get hurt."

Keisha makes an unimpressed noise, her eyes locked on his viewscreen in anticipation. But her face goes soft, settling on a quiet smile as he sifts through photos from just around his neighborhood he'd snagged the day before. He'd never thought to shoot anything within a one-mile radius of his flat, but the impromptu session had left him pleasantly surprised. Dominic's starting to really appreciate the "unseen" animals of the city, to the point where he hasn't even bothered to venture into the suburbs in months.

It's jarring to see a startled alleycat turn into Billy's prone form on his futon. "Oh—" Dominic moves through Sunday's photos quickly. "These are just—"

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa _whoa_." Keisha latches onto his arm with a force that makes his jaw drop—and his grip on the camera, unfortunately, loosen. She grabs for it and pulls it close to her person, out of his reach, hitting the Back button furiously.

Dominic twists his shirt in his hands, utterly helpless, his face going hot.

"Who is this? Who _is_ this?" She lingers on a particularly incriminating close-up of Billy, her eyes turning up at the corners.

"A _friend_ ," Dominic responds lamely, his heart already set off a bit.

"Yeah _right_." She takes her time going through the many variations of Billy curled up in the blanket, smiling in a way that Dominic's rarely had the privilege to see.

The fact that Keisha's discovered his secret affinity for photographing people—well, one person—isn't what worries him so much as how he's going to explain the way he and said person met. As far as Keisha (and his other classmates) know, Dominic makes his living on various odd jobs, ones he hasn't actually held since he was nineteen. It's not a _complete_ lie, and it certainly makes them more comfortable than the truth would. Plus, he's almost as accustomed to fabrication as he is to breathing at this point.

"Who is he? C'mon."

Her excitement is contagious, and it takes Dominic a fraction of a moment to give in to it himself. "Um. That's Billy. I met him through a friend of my roommate." Concocting this story, he realizes, is a bit like figuring out what it might have been like to meet Billy under different circumstances or in an alternate reality, and he likes it more than he probably should. "He was over at my place the other day, and he fell asleep." He smiles, staring at the curve of Billy's lower lip in the photo. "He's adorable."

"Have you guys...?"

Dominic hesitates, not sure how to adapt that part to his alternate reality. "No. We've hung out a few times, but he's made it pretty clear that he doesn't want that."

Keisha instantly looks sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

"Eh." Dominic shrugs, finally tearing his eyes away from the image. "Out of my league, anyway." He fusses with the hair at the back of his neck. "He's getting his Ph.D."

"Oh, whatever," she dismisses, using the zoom function to get a better look at Billy.

"It's weird, though. There's definitely _something_ there. I don't know what it is. I feel like we need each other, somehow, or like we _will_ need each other at some point. Does that make sense? Like, we're meant to be in each other's lives right now. Whether's it's to learn from each other, or... I don't know. It's hard to explain." He can't help but continue to gush; Keisha's the perfect person to unload on about this, considering she's completely isolated to this part of Dominic's life, one that no one really knows much about but him. He doesn't see their friendship moving past this little room, as well as they get on. "He's a Brit, too. Scottish."

"Ooh, that's deadly."

"Yeah." Dominic smiles, hearing the elaborate push and pull of Billy's lilt in his head. "He's sweet, but there's something vicious about him, underneath it. The night I first met him, he was sort of shy, insecure even. But then he can be so sharp and captivating and so... comfortable in his own skin, just not give a _fuck_ what anyone else might think. I've seen him hold an entire room on the tip of his finger. There are all these shades to him." Dominic releases a heavy breath and rubs at the bridge of his nose. "God, I'm a bloody girl. No offense."

Keisha nods. "Saw that coming." She watches him, still cradling a technology-encased Billy in her lap. "Are you okay? Is this going to turn into a _situation_?" She's mock-serious.

"No," he brushes her off. "I'm alright. There's no harm in indulging," he insists, more to himself than to Keisha, although he knows it's far too late to be making such a statement, even if it's in the name of self-delusion.

"If you say so. Just don't let yourself be _too_ much of a masochist."

"That's wonderful, Keisha. Lovely lighting," Gail remarks as she passes behind them.

"Not mine," Keisha smiles, handing Dominic's camera back to him.

Gail immediately pivots, walking back to her post hovering over their shoulders. " _No._ You mean you actually took a photograph of a _person_?"

Dominic gives a heavy sigh in response; his unflailing fascination with animals has become a running joke in this classroom.

"I'm just kidding," Gail gives him a soothing rub on the shoulder. "May I?" She indicates the camera.

Dominic hands it over and folds his hands in his lap—after giving Keisha a pinch on the thigh.

"Absolutely lovely. Is this natural light?" Gail doesn't take her eyes off the viewscreen.

"Yeah." Dominic can feel his cheeks grow hot again as she flips through the many variations of that one shot. It doesn't help that she _really_ takes her time looking them over, pulling her glasses on and off her nose from time to time.

"Are you going to print any of these? You really should."

He waves a hand through the air dismissively. "Nah. I'm no good at people. He was just a fluke."

"I think you underestimate yourself." Gail holds the camera back out to him like it's a power tool, something purely functional and not at all as coveted as Dominic treats it. "Just give it a shot. Maybe your subject'll be willing to be your guinea pig."

Dominic has to stop himself from pinching Keisha again as a preventative measure, after that remark.

*

**SCENE 30. - INT. ELIJAH'S CAR - SUNDAY 8:30AM**

He isn't in buckled in more than two minutes before he starts actively seeking an escape route. His eyes dart from door to door, then ceiling to floor. Kiddie-proof locks and no moonroof. _Shite._

How is Dominic supposed to cope? Billy looks so disgustingly good this morning. It's clear from the slight flush to his cheeks and the slack wetness of his mouth that he hasn't been out of bed an hour. More likely, he rolled out only twenty minutes ago, and directly into Elijah's car. Dominic watches him pull at his hair in the sideview mirror as he slouches in his own seatbelt encasement like their mischievous backseat child. He narrows his eyes, focusing on Billy's reflection as much as he can behind an outdated pair of specs (he couldn't find his fucking contact solution before he and Orli left). Dominic swears he can make out a few faint red marks on Billy's cheeks, parting gifts from his bedsheets. It all really shouldn't be so attractive.

Billy's eyes are glassy, wet, and unfocused as they roam the ungenerous landscape of the Mass Pike. He rubs at them with two knuckly fists and yawns, looking all of seven years old. Dominic smiles, forgetting to avert his eyes before Billy catches him. Thankfully, Billy simply sticks his tongue out at the mirror in response, quickly unraveling the sudden anxious little twist in Dominic's gut. Dominic drops his eyes to his lap and allows himself a bigger smile.

" _Mmrrfeehunnaleeeshorrlee?_ " Orlando mumbles into his arms, which are tangled together and propped up against the car door.

"What was that, Limey?" Elijah briefly lifts his eyes from the road to the rearview and back again.

"I _said_ ," Orlando enunciates, sitting up and pressing himself against the driver's seat, "Why did we have to leave so early?"

"Well, I wanted to make a clean break for it while your mom was still asleep."

Billy musters a tired, appalled laugh, and Orlando makes to smack Elijah upside the head, then, thinking better of it, wraps his arms around his neck. Billy doesn't hesitate to run preemptive interference, literally prying Orlando off of him. "'S too early for that," he insists. "I'm not ready yet."

"Thank you," Dominic announces to the car, taking the opportunity to pat the back of Billy's seat.

Billy indulges in a bigger yawn and an accompanying cat stretch that ends with his hands behind his head. He pats the upholstery there, echoing the code Dominic tapped out just a moment before.

Dominic silently chides his itchy fingers, forcing them not to reach between his knees for his rucksack to get his camera out. He's already taken enough risks at this point, where Billy and a magnifying lens are concerned ( _guinea pig, indeed_ ), and half-eight in the morning on a Sunday is probably not the best time to push it further with greedy close-ups of Billy's fingers. Still, he wants desperately to reach out and touch them, test the texture of the thick Celtic band on Billy's ring finger with his thumb and cradle his wrist with the other four. And he doesn't just want this contact for himself; he wants Elijah and Orli to notice, too, to see physical evidence of their new connection and therefore make it more real.

He knew going into this trip that it would be an exercise in self-denial, but he had no idea just how trying it would be—they're not even at the fucking house yet, and he's writing sonnets to Billy's fingers in his head. Still, it feels too good to stop, that pleasure-pain of knowing you can't have something you want and continuing to want it anyway. Keisha doesn't know him that well, but he has to hand it to her: she is eerily perceptive. Dominic is a giant masochist.

 _And proud of it_ , one of his many stubborn inner voices pipes up.

 

 


	20. Fic: Boston (Montage Part I, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from the trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month?! WTF.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Scenes from the trip.  
 **Note:** It's been a month?! WTF.  


**NORTHAMPTON MONTAGE PART I**

**SUNDAY, DECEMBER 23rd 10:34AM**

Elijah's house—and Elijah's mother—are more than welcoming when they all erupt from the car a couple of hours later.

For guys who make their living off their charm, Dominic and Orlando look like two stunned rabbits standing at the foot of the walkway. They've already had a conversation, of course, about how this excursion will work, what they'll reveal and what they won't, what "roles" they'll play for the holiday, as Orlando'd put it. But after the blueprint had been meticulously laid out, Orlando had realized that there wasn't much that they could preempt here; he has no idea what Elijah's told his mum about them, if anything, and if Elijah's decided to tell her the whole truth, it's really not his or Dominic's place to protest.

Dominic hasn't felt so out of control in years, and it makes him fidgety.

Billy, for his part, is blissfully ignorant, or at least acting that way. He strides up to the front door not a foot behind Elijah, a neat little smile on his face, and embraces Elijah's mother with no hesitation.

Dominic's ears sharpen at their low voices.

_Happy Christmas, Deb._

_Hello Billy, or should I say Dr. Billy?_

_Not yet._

_You look wonderful. I think being done with school agrees with you!_

Without warning, Billy turns to Dominic and Orlando and summons them forward.

Dominic has to press a friendly elbow into the middle of Orlando's back to get his feet moving, but they make it there eventually.

"Orlando and Dom. Dominic." Billy pockets his hands.

Ms. Wood, Debbie, or Deb, as she insists they call her, nearly pulls them inside by their coatsleeves— _It's_ frigid _out here, c'mon_ —and pries all their bags off their shoulders with the power of just her two hands.

Elijah's already got his head buried in the fridge in the kitchen while Deb explains, "I'm sorry you have to share—Hannah's home," and as if on cue, a female Elijah clone shuffles out from behind her brother in fuzzy slippers. Her smile is tight and her hair is blue, and though she is by no means a girl, she certainly blushes like one when Dominic shakes her hand.

*  
 **2:12PM**

They spend most of that first day at a holiday fair downtown (after much urging from Deb to _get out of here and let me work on dinner_ ), for which Dominic is thankful. The longer he can delay having to interact with Elijah's family, the better. He can't even imagine how Orlando's feeling.

The streets have been blocked off with police tape to make way for rows and rows of handmade ornament carts, fried dough and cookie stands, custom Christmas outfit tailors, and the like. The biggest draw is, of course, Santa's Toy Factory, where children (and their poor parents) wait in a huge line that wraps once around the block and back again.

It's a blustery New England day, but thankfully not too bitter for walking around. Dominic detaches himself from the other three and starts to wander down a side street with his camera, reveling in a bit of quiet; he'll need it before they head back for dinner in just a couple of hours. He can still hear a muted cacophony of young voices coming from the main street, but his eyes are on an unassuming bunch of pumpkins left over from Halloween, surprisingly still intact and smiling at him in all their orangey glory from a pile of snow. Beside them are the leftover cornucopias from Thanksgiving just a few weeks before. Before he met Billy, he realizes. He still can't believe how long it _hasn't_ been.

Dominic snaps a few photos of these autumn relics, then slowly makes his way down the barren block for a better view. He's intensely focused on calculating the right aperture for such a dark photo when he feels a firm hand at the center of his back.

"Good at finding hidden treasure, aren't you?" Billy keeps his voice as unobtrusive as he can.

Dominic smiles, lining up his shot. "Or hidden crap, as the case may be." _Click._ He turns to Billy, who looks like he's thinking hard about something. "...What's up?"

"Ehm. I feel like kind of a prick. I sort of dragged you here, didn't I?" He searches Dominic's face, eyes full of concern.

"No, not at all," Dominic is quick to reply. "Far from it. _I'm_ sorry about the wandering off. I swear, I can't help it. My photo teacher calls it 'being in the moment' but my mum calls it having acute A.D.D." Billy laughs, and Dominic's index finger twitches on the shutter button. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be, I promise you that. You're not _that_ persuasive, Boyd."

Billy fights an indulgent smile, his eyes on his feet, and Dominic is sure he's just told the greatest lie of his life.

"Well," Dominic sighs, "I'm afraid I have to take your picture now." And before Billy can protest, Dominic's raised the viewfinder to his eye, and _click_. Billy's mouth drops. "Right now, I have to do it." _Click click._ Dominic bobs and weaves when Billy tries to physically take the camera from him. "Automatic reflex, sorry." _Click click click. Click. Click._ Billy dodges the snaps like bullets and makes his way carefully along the icy pavement in the direction of a hot cider stand, laughing all the way.

*  
 **6:00PM**

Just as Elijah'd predicted, Deb is right on schedule with dinner. When they walk through the door with cold red faces, the table is all set for them and the entire first floor is filled with a phenomenally welcoming aroma.

Orlando sheepishly presents a bottle of wine to Deb on his and Dominic's behalf, and Elijah unceremoniously calls his sister down to the table from the foot of the stairs. A few minutes later, Hannah materializes in the kitchen, now fully dressed and darting her eyes from the floor to Dominic from time to time. Billy and Elijah both notice this, Billy raising an eyebrow to his friend and Elijah attempting to hide a smile with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. _Poor Hannah_ , Billy thinks. _Elijah is going to have fun with that._

The two newest guests to the Wood household are, thankfully, ignorant, Orlando hunched over his plate and Dominic talking animatedly with Deb. Billy allows himself a look and a smile, admiring Dominic's morphing capabilities for about the fiftieth time.

"Elijah didn't tell me whether or not you had plans, but I'd love to cook breakfast for everyone some morning while we're here."

"Aren't you a doll? I'd love that." Deb gives Dominic a little rub behind the neck.

"Dom's a fantastic cook, Deb," Billy chimes in. "Not that I'd know from experience. It's all hearsay at this point."

"Well then, I'll have to prove myself to you, won't I?" Dominic's eyes are full of fire as they meet Billy's.

A not unfamiliar but certainly missed rush goes through Billy's body, and he's sure Dominic notices, because he looks _oh so_ satisfied as he heaps a serving of vegetables onto Deb's plate. Elijah makes a production of coughing, and Hannah looks at him like he's got two heads.

"If you're really up for the challenge," Deb shifts closer to Dom, stage-whispering, "I don't have plans for Christmas morning."

"That's a lot of pressure. Are you sure?" Dominic gives Billy a final lingering look before turning his body back to her.

"You mean, would I rather get up at the asscrack of dawn or sleep in on Christmas? Are you kidding?" Dominic laughs. "I'll show you around the, uh, stock room, after dinner. And if there's anything you need, you just let me know. I'll pick it up tomorrow."

"Fantastic. Thank you."

Deb gives a quick, resolute nod and takes a generous sip of her wine. "So besides cooking, what do you do with yourself, Dom? Elijah's been really good at keeping me in the dark about the both of you."

Billy notices Dominic freeze up just a bit, his mouth perfectly unsure for the first time since they got here, and before Billy can think twice, he's answering for him: "He's a photographer."

Dominic lets his fork drop to his plate and lifts three fingers to his mouth, mirthful eyes fixing on Billy again. He lets his fingers drum against his lips in a kind of Morse code Billy thinks he can comprehend by now: _You magnificent bastard._

Deb is, of course, beside herself at this news, and insists that he show her some of his stuff before their visit is done. By the time she has Orlando on deck, he's more than ready with his answer:

"I'm an actor. Aspiring, anyway."

This response is even more fodder for gushing from Deb, and Dominic visibly relaxes as she turns her full attention to his partner in crime, who literally bounces in his seat while reminiscing about some of the plays he's done.

*  
 **7:23PM**

As promised, Deb gives Dominic a grand tour of the kitchen cupboards after dinner.

Hannah's managed to slither her way back upstairs, and Elijah and Orlando are enjoying a just-barely-concealed bout of flirting at the kitchen table. Billy watches Dominic's back over the rim of his cup of coffee.

Dom and Deb's arms are slung companionably about each other's waists as she opens and closes drawers, intermittently pulling out special utensils and cookware. Dominic peers over her shoulder as she peeks into a tiny, obviously neglected cabinet in the corner. She mutters something to him and they erupt into laughter. A moment later, Dom gasps, capturing Billy's ear. " _Oooh, pineapple juice._ "

Deb clasps a hand over her mouth and shakes with laughter. "Oh _God_ , I have no idea how old that is."

"I'm sure I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. It's been so long since I've had it." Dominic is already reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. "Sorry, 'scuse me. My main vice."

Deb's eyes go wide as she covers his hand with hers. "You too? I was just about to go out for one."

Dominic sticks the fag between his lips and holds his arm out to her. "Come on, then."

Billy already has his attention back on Elijah and Orlando before they make their way past the table and out the side door into the alley.

"You roll your own?" Deb shimmies a well-loved pack of Marlboro Lights out of the front pocket of her denims.

Dominic waggles his eyebrows at her and retrieves another of his own from his pocket, handing it to her without a word.

Deb licks her lips in anticipation, her voice going guttural. "God, I haven't had one of these since college." Dominic lights them both up, and she exhales a long line of smoke with pleasure. "Thank you, m'dear."

Dominic laughs quietly. "My pleasure." It's definitely too cold to be indulging out here, especially considering they've both forgotten their coats inside, but Dominic doesn't mind. He's enjoying the silence, the few stars he can see, and the company.

"So how long have you and Billy been seeing each other?"

Dominic bounces and shivers, his heart giving a start. " _Oh._ We're, um, we're not."

Elijah's mum looks instantly embarrassed. "Oh, you're not!"

"Sorry to disappoint," Dominic mutters, eyes on his feet.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, it's alright. Just caught me off guard, is all." When Deb doesn't continue, Dominic presses gently. "What made you think we were?"

Deb chuffs out the start of a laugh. "What didn't? Everything, to be frank."

*  
 **8:43PM**

Though he'd never admit it, Billy's spent more than his share of time envisioning all the possible little scenarios for this trip, some of which he dreads for how much he knows they'll stick stubbornly with him long after the holiday is over.

Lij—the manipulative little fuck—has somehow swindled his way into splitting them up, keeping Orlando captive in his room and leaving Billy to share a bed for three nights with Dominic. This takes care of about half the scenarios Billy's imagined, and they all come rushing back to him in a technicolor montage he has no hope of turning off.

The first scene plays out in live action right before his eyes not a few minutes after he settles onto the guest bed with a Suffolk library book in his lap. He's read the same paragraph of a chapter on F.W. Murnau's career in America about six times when Dominic shuffles into the room wearing nothing but a towel and a startled smile.

" _Oh._ Are we...?"

"Looks like it." Billy does his best to avert his eyes from the beads of water stubbornly clinging to Dominic's skin between the freckles on his shoulders. "Sorry, I'll—." He swings his legs off the side of the bed and turns to the opposite wall, very nearly holding his breath, book still face-down in his lap, when he realizes that he can still see Dom's reflection in the window in front of him. He lowers his eyes to the carpet, hearing Dominic's voice drop to the back of his throat behind him.

"Nothing you haven't seen."

Billy swears he can feel his heartbeat all the way down in his ankles. "Nothing wrong with being a gentleman, eh?"

"Oh, so that's what this is," Dominic laughs. "'M not used to such treatment." After a succession of sounds—a duffel being unzipped, a towel being whipped off, sweats and socks being pulled on—Dominic gives a dramatic sigh. "All decent. Your virgin eyes are safe."

Billy has _You of all people should know there's no truth to that label_ right there on his tongue, but he quickly decides that letting this escalate any further isn't the best route to take, especially under the current circumstances. Dominic's a flirt, and a charming one at that, but Billy can only entertain it to a point, for the sake of his own sanity.

Dominic leaves his specs on the bedside table for the morning, and Billy realizes with a smile that they've now spent more domestic time with one another than they have in bed. Maybe the great stutter that was the start of their relationship _can_ be erased.

Billy leaves the dusty old hated volume open in his lap, his eyes scanning over the same words from before as he contemplates all this. He feels rather than sees Dominic sneak into the far side of the bed beside him, a completely different creature than the Dominic that crawled over his naked body in that green bed that first night. He turns to see the quiet silhouette of that wiry frame under the covers, its back turned to him. Dominic's breathing looks deep and even, but Billy isn't convinced. He slams his book shut with a _thwack_ and shoves it onto the nightstand. "Alright. Talk or sleep?" he asks Dominic's back. "I can't read this fucking shite anymore."

Dominic turns three-quarters of the way back to him with wide eyes and the start of a wicked smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

*  
 **8:53PM**

"Hold on, lemme crack a window." Elijah abandons the arduous task of removing all his jewelry. "Jesus Christ, you forget it's fucking illegal here."

Orlando smiles innocently around the spliff as he lights up. He inhales, puffing his cheeks out dramatically as he holds the smoke in his mouth and hands it over to Lij. He shivers, ends up coughing it out too soon, and giggles. "Fucking _cold_."

"I'm not taking any chances. My mom'll have a fucking heart attack if the smoke alarm goes off." Elijah lets the joint burn between his thumb and forefinger as he continues removing his bracelets with his teeth, tossing them in a heap on the bedside table. He shimmies out of his jeans and pulls off his glasses simultaneously, then gratefully takes a drag as a reward.

Orlando all but forgets the spliff, lounging on his side on the mattress with his head propped on a bent arm. "Look at you, all naked."

Elijah peers down at his t-shirt and boxers. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You and Dom with your fucking accessories." Orlando punctuates his point by lifting Elijah's discarded belt from the mattress: red leather with studs. "You're more alike than you think. Like soldier's armor, all this shite." He grabs inelegantly for the joint again. "It's nice to see you without it, is all."

Elijah sticks his tongue out at him before flopping onto the mattress beside him, upsetting his discarded accoutrements between them in the process. He giggles, pushing them aside with one fell swoop of his arms so they come raining down on the carpet at the foot of the bed. He relaxes against the headboard, rubbing a cold bare foot against Orlando's thigh for a well-deserved moment of silence. He can't help feeling accomplished for what they, all of them, pulled off at dinner. He remembers Orlando's conversation with his mom. "Have you done any shows lately? You haven't mentioned anything in a while."

"No, I stopped that about a year ago."

It's obvious to Elijah just how bitter Orlando is about that, mainly because Orlando isn't very good at hiding what he's feeling. Elijah's often wondered how he does what he does; he wasn't exactly made for acting _or_ hustling. "How come?"

Orlando shrugs, taking another drag. "I never felt like anyone took me seriously at auditions. You know?"

Elijah gives a solemn nod. "Blinded by the hotness."

Orlando smacks him on the leg and lets the silence stretch between them again for a moment. "Plus it's really hard as an actor who's not American."

Elijah turns to him with interest, taking the joint from his hands again. "I thought those companies in the 'burbs do a lot of period... Englandy stuff."

"They _were_ , for a while. But." Orlando crosses his arms over his chest, eyes on the ceiling, thoughtful. "Believe it or not, what I'm doing now is more consistent."

"I believe it." Elijah takes this moment to give him an inappropriate squeeze. Orlando responds with only the impression of a smile, however, his gaze still distant. Elijah hesitates. "You can't do it forever, though."

Orlando rolls his eyes and busies himself playing with the torn cuff of his sleeve.

"It's _true_." Elijah considers panicking. He hopes he hasn't just ruined the rest of their time here together completely. "You can't possibly get mad at me for saying that."

Orlando ignores this, flipping the spliff around and sticking the burning end between his pursed lips, offering a drag to Elijah from his mouth. Elijah presses his palms into the mattress as he leans forward, closing his mouth around the joint and inhaling in a bizarre kiss. He holds the smoke in his mouth, removes the spliff from Orli's, and kisses him again, giving the drug back to him.

When they part, Orlando is sure to turn his face away as he blows the smoke out in the direction of the window. His thumb finds one of Elijah's nipples through his shirt and rubs there, his tone playful. "If I stopped, where would that leave you?"

Elijah doesn't smile, though. "...I dunno."

Orlando takes a deep breath and exhales heavily, moving his eyes to the wall behind them. "So, who's sucking off who now, do you think?"

After a moment, Elijah gives a little laugh. "Please. Billy's like fucking Fort Knox when he makes up his mind about something. Ain't nothin' goin' on over there." He takes a deep, greedy drag before Orlando seizes the joint again, this time putting it out in one of the house's ubiquitous ashtrays (left over from the eighties, Deb insists—she hasn't smoked in the house since then, she swears) on the bedside table.

Orlando leans in and gets right to sucking on the side of Elijah's neck. "Thank God you don't take after him."

*  
 **9:28PM**

"What's the weirdest thing a client's made you do?"

Dominic giggles behind his hand, snuggling further under the covers. He feels like a ten-year-old girl, confiding in Billy in the dark like this. All they need is a flashlight. "Oh, I keep the answer to that question on reserve at all times. It was a woman, believe it or not. In her forties."

Billy looks positively rapt. He'd been hesitant at first, as always bashful about asking Dominic these questions, but once Dominic had proven just how willing he was to disclose, it had quickly become a no-holds-barred situation.

"She gets a hotel room for the night, very nice, downtown. When I get there, there's another hooker there, a girl—apparently she'd invited her ahead of time. She—the john—had just been divorced the year before, and she wants us to recreate scenes from her and her ex-husband's marriage."

"Wow."

"She had scripts and everything." Dominic laughs, recalling a bit of dialogue word for word. "I referred her to Orli, after that. Really more his area of expertise than mine."

Billy has a permanent smile on his face. "That doesn't sound so bad. I was expecting something violent, or..."

"Oh, there's been plenty of that," Dominic widens his eyes for emphasis. "Not lately, but in the beginning, all the time. When things were desperate. Before we really knew what we were doing."

"...Like what?"

"Um." Dominic hesitates. He knows just the story to tell, but he's not sure he wants to break the mood. He turns his eyes back to Billy, who looks all too interested, and decides to go for it. "This was probably only the third or fourth john I ever had... I hadn't met Orli yet. He pulls over in his car and asks me to hop in, and I do. Mistake number one. I know guys who do that all the time, but that was the last time I did. But, you know. Desperate times." Dominic turns onto his back, getting comfortable. "So. He seemed nice. He _was_ nice. Told me he was taking me to his house in one of the suburbs. Can't even remember which, now. Anyway. It's about forty minutes from downtown. We get there, and it's dark out at this point. February, I think. Cold as fuck." He squints, remembering the guy's living room. "Nice little house. He had a fireplace. Obviously lived alone, though. So we're in the living room, just having a chat. He pulls out a bottle of wine. I make sure he hasn't slipped me anything. And I can't tell what, but I know there's something _off_ about him. Whenever I try to bring up what he wants me to do, he changes the subject. Really fucking strange." Dominic clears his throat, his words coming faster. "Anyway, long story short: he's really ceremonial about it, taking his time undressing me, laying me out. But still, no sex, no talk of sex... or rates. And um. He tried to brand me."

Billy's face goes completely still. "What?"

"Exactly what I said. He had a poker in his fireplace, and fucking chased me with it, all around the house."

"Fucking Christ," Billy breathes. "What happened?"

"I got the fuck out of there. Even managed to grab my fucking clothes, while I was at it. I remember running through the woods naked, scared out of my mind. The houses out there were spaced really far apart, thankfully, so no one saw me," he laughs. "But I was so scared I wasn't going to find another house. I realized the guy wasn't even coming after me, though, so I stopped and pulled on my clothes, finally found a row of houses and started ringing people's bells, pretending my car had broken down." Dominic laughs again. "Car. I didn't even have a decent pair of shoes."

"Sounds like a horror film."

"Yeah. I mean, I _was_ lost. I had no fucking idea where he'd taken me. I hadn't even really been to most of the suburbs at that point, other than Needham." Dominic takes a deep breath and exhales, afraid of what Billy's thinking. "That was probably the worst, though. I can laugh about it now. I don't think he genuinely wanted to hurt me—he just wasn't all there."

"Thank God."

"There were some situations with drugs, too, early on, heavy drugs," Dominic confides. A few images, mostly involving Orlando, flash through his mind, but he decides to keep them in the past where they belong. "And there are always johns who like it rough, but that's never been a problem for me."

There's a long moment of silence after that, and Billy feels his face going hot with the thickness of it.

"I was wondering about that," Billy admits. "I was thinking it can't have always been as easy as it seems for the two of you."

Dominic wants to say it's still not easy but for different reasons, but he ultimately says nothing at all. What Billy asks him next is unexpected.

"When was the last time you were with someone without... there being a price on it?"

Dominic laughs hard at this, covering his face. He scrubs his hands through his hair. "I don't know," he lies. "When I first got here, _maybe_." _Definitely._

Billy's eyebrows shoot up. "That's surprising."

"Not to me." Dominic goes silent again, hoping the subject gets dropped.

"What are you thinking about?" Billy asks him.

"My mum," he answers, surprising himself. "All this Christmas stuff," he explains. He feels Billy examining his profile and turns to him. "What?"

"You really wear your heart on your sleeve, don't you? I thought you were really good at keeping a straight face, but I always have some idea of what's going on in here." He pokes Dominic in the chest. "I like that."

Dominic searches Billy's face with his eyes, his voice intense and quiet. "I wish I could be more like you."

"And what am I like?"

Billy plays affronted, but Dominic is utterly serious. "You never let on." Billy clears his throat and furrows his brow, thinking. "I mean, it's good," Dominic backtracks. "For what you do. You choose the right time and place to express your emotions."

Billy turns back to him with a glint in his eye. "Now we both know _that's_ not true."

Dominic takes a pregnant pause, then snaps his fingers, pretending to remember the incident to which Billy refers. "Oh _right_ , there was _that_."

"That's what happens when you keep it all in all the time," Billy yawns, keeping his eyes closed.

It's dangerous, Dominic knows, but he takes the opportunity to give Sleeping Billy another close examination. Although Billy's placed little to no weight on the words he's just uttered, Dominic feels as if he's just learned something very fundamental about him. He knows instinctively that he needs to catalogue it.

Looking at Billy, he feels himself giving in to his own fatigue; it's been a long day, and he hadn't slept much the night before, his stomach all tied up in knots, for not much reason, he now realizes. He fights it, though, wanting to hold on to these last waking moments with Billy a little while longer. "You look like a pixie."

Billy's eyes open into tired little slits.

"That's what I thought the first time I met you," Dominic smiles, thinking that observation's never been more true than it is right now.

Billy screws his mouth up in a mock-scowl, closing his eyes again. "You calling me a fairy?"

Dominic laughs tiredly, letting his own eyes fall shut for good. "Yeah." He knows he's not getting any more conversation out of Billy tonight, and unless this is some long, elaborate dream, he'll have plenty of opportunity for more over the next three days. He finally stops fighting his fatigue and instead focuses on the wild beating of his heart and the barrage of questions attacking his brain as he falls into his first actual dream of the night.

 


	21. Fic: Boston (Montage Part II, WIP)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost two months since I last posted. I think that's a record (and an abomination).

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Note:** Almost two months since I last posted. I think that's a record (and an abomination).  


**NORTHAMPTON MONTAGE PART II**

**MONDAY, DECEMBER 24rd 7:45AM**

When Billy wakes up the next morning, he's faced with a clean, wide, empty stretch of bed beside him. The other end of the blankets are neatly tucked in, and Dominic is nowhere to be seen. He remembers waking up several times during the night, each time discovering that they'd both valiantly kept most of the mattress between them, even in slumber.

Billy gives a start when he hears a deep inhale, then a controlled exhale through pursed lips. His eyes dart around the room, finding nothing. When he rises to a sitting position, though, he catches a glimpse of shoulder over the foot of the bed. He smiles. "Dom?"

Dominic lifts his head as much as he can from his current position—whatever it is—so that one tired eye squints at Billy over the rumpled duvet. "Morning." His voice is strained. Billy crawls forward, intrigued, and Dominic is quickly distracted by the move, nearly falling out of his pose. He forces himself to bow his head again.

"How long've you been up?"

"About an hour," Dominic admits sheepishly. "Can't sleep in houses I'm not used to."

"Mm." Billy lays on his stomach and watches Dominic form a near-perfect tabletop.

Dominic takes in and expels two more controlled breaths. "Be done in a minute."

"Take your time," Billy smiles, unashamed to be watching. "I didn't know you did that."

"Every day," Dominic forces out as he moves into a downward dog. "Though when I was sick, I stopped cold for about a week." He scoots himself back on the heels of his hands, righting his positioning. "'M still having a bit of trouble getting back into it. Muscles aren't cooperating."

Billy's eyes follow the line of his back that moves into the upside-down vee that is the rise of his ass and then cascades into his taut legs. "Doing better than I would." He scoots to the end of his side of the bed and struggles with the window shade. When it finally snaps with obedience and curls in on itself, the brightness of outside is startling. Billy squints and holds a hand in front of his eyes. There's a fresh blanket of snow fluttering into place over everything. "My God. Again?"

"I know," Dominic grumbles, obviously having already done his share of exploring this morning. Billy feels guilty and a bit regretful for sleeping through it.

He pulls the shade back down halfway so the light spilling into the room isn't so unforgiving. He musses a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious at how he must look. When he returns his attention to the foot of the bed, Dominic has finished his last pose and stands reaching toward the low ceiling with both arms, almost touching it with his fingertips, eyes closed. Without warning, he drops, folding in half to reach underneath his toes and give them a pull. "Hungry?" Billy offers.

Dominic lets out a emphatic "Yes," then crouches, finally showing his face to Billy properly.

"Let's get dressed. We'll take the car out."

"Can we?"

Billy shuffles over to his suitcase and starts searching for something warm to wear. "Yeah, Deb always lets me. And no one'll be up for another couple of hours, I don't think." He pulls a thick burgundy sweater on right over his undershirt. "There's this twenty-four-hour diner about fifteen minutes away. Fucking incredible breakfast food."

*  
 **8:26AM**

Dominic makes a run for the restroom as soon as they're settled in their booth. Billy realizes that they've both neglected certain parts of their respective morning routines in their famished rush to get out here. His hair feels a bit grimy.

Dominic, for his part, takes a few minutes in the restroom to collect his thoughts and his nerves. He splashes water on his face and tugs on his hair, getting lost in his reflection. He's not sure what to make of Billy's behavior, and he's not sure that contemplating it too much is a good idea. Fuck protocol—if there's one thing he's learned over the last few years, it's that his instincts are never wrong.

So he'll stop wondering whether or not Billy truly enjoys his company, whether it's a pure thing or if there's some semblance of pity at work. He'll stop wondering if Billy's still attracted to him—or if he ever was to begin with, for that matter. He'll just stop thinking, period, and do his best to enjoy this time they have together.

_Easier said than done._

When he returns, he approaches their table shaking his head with a playful scowl. "Didn't even give me a chance to piss before we left, you bastard." As he slides into the seat across from Billy, he can feel himself flinch and blink hard at the glass that's set in front of him, right square in the middle of his placemat. It's a double shot glass of what appears to be—

"Pineapple juice?" Billy sits back with a smirk, cradling a steaming cup of coffee with both of his hands. "Isn't that what it was?"

Dominic suddenly remembers what Elijah's mum said last night, about he and Billy acting like a couple. So much for no longer analyzing. "You're a sweetheart, aren't you?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can even think them over, and they both freeze. Billy hides the start of a smile with his cup of coffee, but Dominic can still see the red that blossoms around his cheeks and ears.

Dominic lowers his eyes to the menu, even though he'd already decided what he wants in the car on the way over, in order to give Billy some reprieve. He feels like a bit of a prick, like maybe he said what he said, subconsciously, to get a rise out of Billy, and it's obviously worked.

Billy doesn't keep it a secret, either, trying to take away the sting of discomfort by nudging Dominic's foot under the table.

"Sorry," Dominic laughs, eyes still mindlessly scanning the breakfast pages.

Dominic is grateful for the waitress' interruption, and orders a modest egg-white omelet while Billy orders enough food for two men twice his size. He gives Billy a quizzical look as their menus are taken away. "Where do you put it?"

Billy doesn't miss a beat. "In my mouth, where do you think?" He takes a long moment to appreciate just how different Dominic looks this morning, between the specs and the sweats, bare fingers and wrists, and all the bright winter sunlight warming his face through the diner's ample windows. He realizes, not for the first time, how rarely he's seen Dominic in daylight. There's something else that's different about him, too, something that Billy can't quite name. "You look really good, Dom."

Dominic is broken out of the trance he'd fallen into staring at the snow fall outside. "Hm? _Oh._ Thanks." He scritches his scalp. "Don't feel so good-looking right now, to tell you the truth."

"You are, though." Billy hesitates. "Don't take this the wrong way, but it's, ehm... around the eyes, it's really noticeable."

Billy lets the remark hang in the air there, and Dominic shifts uncomfortably in the squeaky booth.

"I guess this is me seeing you healthy for the first time," Billy decides with a bright smile. He watches with curiosity as Dominic pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles something on his hand underneath the table.

"Um." Dominic's brow furrows. He lays said hand flat on the table and begins scrawling letters on his knuckles. He gets down an "H" and an "E" before Billy prompts him.

"What?"

"I was wondering." He finally meets Billy's eyes. "Do you know of any churches in the area? A Catholic church."

"Hmm." Billy rests his elbow on the table and props his chin up with his hand. "I've never been to one here—Lij's family isn't very religious. But we must've passed a couple on the way."

Dominic nods, distracted, still tracing over the letters on the backs of his fingers.

Billy looks at him carefully, his tone gentle. "Why do you ask?"

"Um. Well, it's Christmas Eve. I'd like to go," Dominic shrugs sheepishly. "If we pass one on the way back, would you mind? I don't want to go to a service or anything—I'd just pop in for a few minutes."

"No, not at all." Billy takes a generous sip of coffee. "Could probably use some divine intervention myself."

*  
 **9:43AM**

Dominic hesitates, letting the gentle flurries give his hair and clothes a dusting as his eyes rove the expanse of the tiny white building. He wonders what Billy must think of the picture he makes. "I haven't been religious for a while," he explains without turning. "Doesn't really go with my lifestyle anymore. But I find myself craving it sometimes, being in a church, crossing myself. Reciting prayers I've known since I was little."

Billy nods silently, allowing Dominic his space and letting him decide when and where to enter.

When he does, he does so meekly, expecting a bit of a crowd even if it's too early for a service. But to his relief, there's no one, not even a priest, at least that he can see—and he doesn't plan on doing a confession today, thanks very much. He holds the heavy door open to Billy, who guides it shut with a care that surprises them both.

Billy waits with his back pressed to it, watching Dominic survey the walls and ceiling. He smirks when he sees the disappointment cross his face. The church is modern, with no history or character, even for an American church. Still, there are pools of holy water and a statue of Jesus at the altar. It'll do.

Dominic makes his way up he center aisle, dragging his fingers along the arms of the pews in reverence rather than rebellion, while Billy keeps his distance, strolling the perimeter with a mostly detached curiosity. When Dominic reaches the second row, he grips the wood for purchase and genuflects there, then rises and gingerly makes his way into the pew. The kneeler squeaks a little as he pulls it down, but he doesn't falter in his routine, resting his elbows on the back of the seat in front of him and pressing his palms resolutely together. He starts an Our Father that dies on his lips after "Thy kingdom come," then moves seamlessly into a silent prayer of his own.

He keeps it short and simple, as he is mindful of Billy's presence not too far from him now, wandering somewhere in the vicinity of the Virgin Mary. The content is mostly familiar; he prays for the well-being of his friends and his family, even if he feels a bit hypocritical for doing so. But this morning, there is an addendum, and there's an urgency to it: Dominic wonders if he's finding the right path, not necessarily as a Catholic but the right path for him, and if he is, if God could maybe give him a sign. It's silly—and certainly something he hasn't done since he was a kid—but, as Billy said, maybe some divine intervention is in order.

Dominic crosses himself and stays with his eyes closed, palms together and braced on his forehead, until the sound of coins in the donation box breaks him out of his reverie. The perpetrator is Billy, standing before the bank of votives and suddenly looking very solemn. Dominic approaches silently, and although Billy doesn't turn, Dominic can tell that his presence is felt.

"I'm glad we came here," Billy says. "You mentioning your mum last night made me think of my parents."

It is then that Dominic notices the two lone candles at Billy's waist that are now lit up. He gives Billy an intense, searching look, and Billy exhales heavily. Dominic can literally feel his world shift, _their_ world shift.

"I'm not Catholic, but I think it's nice."

" _Billy._ " No courage is needed for Dominic to tangle their hands together. "When?"

"My father when I was twelve. My mother when I was thirteen." Dominic can tell it's a sentence he's been reciting just like that for most of his life, but it still nearly knocks the wind out of him. "They were good people. From what I remember, anyway."

"I'm sure they were." Dominic keeps his hands still, though the urge to give Billy more comfort is too strong. "You can tell me more about it sometime, if you want."

Billy gives him a tight but genuine smile and squeezes his hand. "Yeah. I will."

*  
 **9:07PM**

After dinner, there is an understood routine that everyone seems to be in on but Dominic and Orlando, and it's obvious that their presence has sort of interrupted it. So long as Billy's been the only guest, Christmas has still been a family affair, but when Elijah and his friends outnumber the family, it's something else. Sensing this, Deb gives an exaggerated yawn and a pointed look to Hannah about an hour into _It's a Wonderful Life_. "I think I'm off to bed."

"Me too." Hannah gives a little wave. "Merry Christmas." She disappears on the staircase.

"Don't go upstairs on our account," Billy insists.

"No, I really am tired." Deb ruffles his hair, then Dom's, then Orlando's, in a sort of game of Duck-Duck-Goose on her way across the room to her son. She kisses Elijah on the top of his head. "'Night, honey."

"'Night, Ma."

"Dom, I expect to awaken to the aroma of a gourmet breakfast tomorrow."

Dominic gives her a lopsided smile. "You won't be disappointed."

She gives him a wink, and they all bid her a final quiet goodnight.

As soon as they hear her bedroom door close, Elijah whispers, "...Can we play Spin the Bottle now?"

They all laugh. Dominic sits cross-legged at the foot of the tree, watching Billy, who's draped sideways over one of the plush chairs. He's been quiet tonight, lost in the black-and-white images playing across the TV screen, or at least pretending to be.

"Maybe we should say what we're thankful for," Orlando pipes up.

"Wrong holiday." Elijah pinches his side and tries to make a run for it, but Orlando's too quick—or too long-limbed—grabbing him under the arms and hoisting him onto the sofa with him.

"I think it's a good idea," Billy smiles, working a hand through his hair. "Fuck you and your American traditions."

"Yeah, you're outnumbered tonight!" Orlando keeps Elijah hostage with one arm and tickles him with the other. Elijah gives a surprisingly high-pitched screech, and Orlando clamps a hand over his mouth, shaking with silent laughter. "Lunatic. You'll wake your mum!"

Dominic is suddenly very interested in the frayed cuffs of his denims.

"Come on, Orlando. What are you thankful for?" Billy turns away from the telly to sit properly.

"Um." He tightens his hold on Elijah, who burrows into his side. "I'm thankful for little Yankee twits without whom I wouldn't be having such a lovely holiday. And..." His eyes move to Dom. "...I'm thankful for having the best roommate in the world. Billy, I'm sorry, I don't know you well enough to be thankful for you yet."

Billy gives him a playful shrug.

Elijah twists about so that his back is to Orlando. "Billy, what are you thankful for?"

Billy flinches, as if he'd never expected the question to be turned on him. "Ehm." He searches the ceiling for an answer. "Being alive. And being done with school. Almost."

"Yay," Elijah applauds, and they all follow suit, except Dominic, who's still completely distracted. "I'm thankful for that too. I was sick of your bitching."

"That's it?" Orlando nuzzles the back of his head.

Elijah pretends to consider. "Oh, and this sofa. This sofa's pretty comfortable."

Orlando gives him a wry smile and cuddles him closer. "Fine."

Billy turns to Dominic, examining his face. "Dom?"

"'M thankful for friends," he answers quickly. "Anyone want hot chocolate? 'M gonna make some." He rises and begins walking to the kitchen.

"I'll have some," Lij sing-songs. "And put some rum in it."

"I think you've had enough tonight," Orlando chides, creeping a hand underneath his sweater.

" _Noooo._ " Elijah protests even as he wriggles closer to him.

"Yes." Orlando starts to nibble at his neck.

" _Oh_ , go upstairs already." Billy preemptively puts an end to the play-fighting before he throws up all over the living room rug. "Christ."

The moment they've been given permission, they don't hesitate, Elijah hauling Orlando off the sofa by both arms. They call goodnight and Merry/Happy Christmas to Billy, but he's already halfway to the kitchen to look in on Dominic.

When he reaches the archway, Billy doesn't make his presence known right away, content to watch Dominic putter around the kitchen for measuring spoons and cookware with a manic energy. After a few moments, he clears his throat.

Dominic turns and forces a smile. "Hey."

"The other two girls finally went to bed."

"Oh." Dom's smile turns genuine, but he now looks at a loss, holding the container of cocoa powder in one hand and a measuring cup in the other. "Do you still want...?"

"Sure."

"'Kay." Dominic turns back to the task at hand.

Billy finds it hard to fathom how touched he is by the image before him, of Dominic so domestic and in his element as such, measuring the ingredients in equal amounts for two mugs that sit side by side on the kitchen counter. "You know, you don't have to pretend to be happy for the sake of Christmas. Or for the sake of being a guest in someone's house you don't know very well."

"I'm not pretending," Dominic gently protests. "I still don't regret coming here, either. I'm really enjoying myself, honestly." He turns and gives Billy a brighter smile as a convincer.

Billy nods and bites his lip, leaning his hip against the oven handle. "Is there something else, then? You've seemed kind of... preoccupied today."

"Um. Well. You know, 's that whole end-of-the-year thing. Makes you reevaluate everything, yeah?" Dominic knows he's being vague, but he also knows that Billy won't mind—or press further.

"Absolutely. Although I feel like I go through it once a month these days."

Dominic laughs a little. "Really?"

"Yeah." Billy sounds tired. "When I first started school here, I felt so out of place. I still do, to be honest. All the other students in my class are so privileged. I didn't know how to talk to them or _be_ around them. Growing up, it was all about defending my masculinity, and then it became a matter of defending my intelligence, you know?"

Dominic slows his actions on the stove, interested—and glad to have the heat off of him. "Yeah."

"I had to adapt. And I've done well for myself, I know that. And I _will_ do well. I think. But there's still this part of me that thinks I don't belong there, like I'm in disguise and they're going to figure me out at any second. I mean, they don't know. They have no idea about where I come from; they know nothing of that world. I'm not resentful or anything. And I don't regret the program. It's just hard to decide what I am, what world I belong in sometimes. I feel like I'm in two places at once," Billy laughs. "You know?"

Dominic gives a heavy sigh as he stirs the chocolate. "You have no idea how much I know."

Billy hesitates. "Turn around."

"What?" Dominic laughs nervously. He feels Billy move closer.

"Turn around. Just for a second."

When Dominic turns, Billy pulls him by the neck into a full-body hug that's more intimate than anything they've shared, even considering all that's happened between them, and suddenly the simmering chocolate and the conversation at hand are both totally forgotten. At first, Dominic doesn't know what to do, with Billy wrapped all warm and firm around him, one hand in the hair at the nape of his neck and the other at the small of his back. He finally curls his arms up and around Billy's back and rests his chin on Billy's shoulder, trying to capture their embrace with his mental camera.

Billy lifts his head so his mouth is right up against Dom's ear and says, "I'm really thankful we met."

Dominic shivers, feeling his heart set off to racing and hoping Billy can't feel it against his own chest. He knows he's going to replay this moment in his head for the next week, at least. Still, a small part of him wants to shove Billy away, hard. How could he not notice how perfectly their bodies fit together? How could he not want this? Dominic wishes he had the courage to voice any of these things, but all he can manage is, "Me too."

 

 

 


	22. Fic: Boston (Montage Part III, WIP)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I beat my own record: almost three months since my last post. *is ashamed*

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Note:** I beat my own record: almost three months since my last post. *is ashamed*  


**NORTHAMPTON MONTAGE PART III**

**CHRISTMAS DAY 6:34AM**

Billy is dreaming, and, thankfully, he knows it—one of those lucid dreams where the setting is realistic and the actions are believable, but something is just slightly off about it. They're still in the guest room in Lij's house, he and Dom, and the colors are all right, but he's facing Dom's back and it's all fuzzy, like Billy's looking at him with drops in his eyes. Dominic's silhouette ripples as he turns to face Billy, and he's wearing his glasses to bed, which can't be right—sign number one.

His neck goes elongated as he scoots toward Billy, all soft smile and big, tired eyes, still blurry around the edges of his hair and face and shirt, like he's part of a movie dream sequence. His face gets close to Billy's but they're still fully apart, head to toe, and that just doesn't suit Billy, not at all, so he leans in and tries to brush their lips together—for the first time, no small feat to begin with—but it simply won't happen. He misses and kisses air, then tries again and barely brushes Dom's cheek, and he can't tell what the problem is, if it's his aim or if Dom is just teasing, but their mouths are like magnets that repel rather than attract. Billy lowers his eyes to their feet, still separate at the foot of the bed, and finally realizes that they are laying above the duvet—sign number two.

Billy can see his own toes wiggle lamely under his socks, but his calves feel as if they're weighed down with led. When he raises his eyes back up, Dominic licks his lips—"Go on, then"—and Billy tries giving it another shot, but now his neck muscles are paralyzed and he's becoming so frustrated he wants to cry. Dom just half-lays on his back and giggles like they're playing a game of tag. Billy pauses, takes a few breaths to gather his strength, and tries to throw his head forward with all his might. His neck muscles go taut for a long moment and then finally snap, pushing his head into the juncture where Dominic's neck meets his shoulder. Billy nuzzles his nose right underneath Dom's ear and nearly whines, "Why d'you keep moving?"

Dominic wriggles against the mattress and laughs again. "'S not _my_ fault."

Billy tries to lift his arms—he wants to brace Dom's face between his hands—but, of course, they're just as immobile as his legs. This is quickly becoming like one of those nightmares he had as a child, where he'd be chased down the street by a man with a gun, and as hard as he'd try to scream, all that would come out of his mouth was a faint screech. To remedy the problem, he used to clench his eyes shut as tight as he could (in the dream, that is), hoping that when he opened them, he'd be awake, or at least conjuring a more amicable scenario. Face still buried in Dominic's neck, he does this now. As usual, it takes a few tries, and when he's finally escaped, it's back to the waking world, with a jerk and a tiny gasp.

He's just slightly damp, his shirt uncomfortably cool at the small of his back and under his arms, and Dominic's head is burrowed against his side. Billy can instantly tell it's not intentional, only a casualty of Dom's ridiculous sprawl in slumber, but that doesn't make it any less unnerving, especially considering what was running through his mind only moments before. He finds himself frozen in shame, already half-hard.

Dominic's body has gone nearly horizontal in sleep, almost perfectly perpendicular to Billy's, his hand flopped carelessly onto the lower part of Billy's stomach, knuckles down. Billy tries to examine the writing on Dom's skin from his vantage point: what looks like H-E-L-L-O over the backs of his knuckles, the bit of arithmetic on the fleshy part underneath his thumb. He wonders if these etchings are simple reminders or something more important, something deeply personal that Billy can never hope to know. He wishes there were something more useful scrawled there, something he could use. He wishes Dominic could create a map for him.

He has no idea what was bothering Dom so intensely last night. He often has to remind himself that no matter how well they get along or how ingenuous Dom may seem, there's a world about him that he still doesn't know, that maybe he doesn't even want to know, when he honestly considers it.

Dominic's hand twitches, making a soft rustling sound against Billy's shirt. He nudges his head further into Billy's side, his breath a warm little oval on the soft part of his stomach that sends a rush through the lower half of his body and makes his eyes flutter shut. Billy looks down at the crown of Dominic's head, helpless. The way he tucks so perfectly under his ribs, what it does to his heart, is just fucking unfair. _And fucking ridiculous_ , Billy chides himself.

Still, it takes a world of effort for Billy to not brush the hair out of his eyes. It's ironic: now that he's emerged from his nightmare, now that he can touch Dom at will, he's not allowed. Which is also ridiculous, really; Billy knows that Dominic wouldn't recoil if he woke up to find Billy's hands on him. What he doesn't know is what it would mean to Dominic—or not mean.

Head swimming and body thrumming, Billy slides out from underneath Dominic, easing him onto the mattress gently so as not to rouse him, and walks on the balls of his feet out of the guest room and down the hall.

It's still quite early, and the house is mostly dark, so Billy is surprised to find Elijah in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He stops at the threshold, squinting against the harsh fluorescent light. "Mind if I piss?"

Elijah mutters what sounds like _Be my guest_ around a mouthful of foam and toothbrush, shifting slightly to avert his eyes.

By the time Billy's readjusting his flannels and moving to the sink to wash his hands, Elijah's rinsing his mouth out. Lij shakes his wet hands over the porcelain and grabs a washcloth off the rack. "Everything okay? You look distraught."

Billy smiles ruefully, catching Lij's eyes in the mirror. "So does your hair."

"Touché." Elijah starts pulling at the ends of said hair with his fingers.

"What're you doing up?" Billy asks, pulling his own toothbrush down from the cabinet.

"Don't know," Elijah sighs. "My body knows it's Christmas, I guess. I used to wake my mom up at four-thirty when I was little. Old habits die hard."

Lij gives him a long look and Billy sighs inwardly—he thinks he has an idea of what's coming. Never one to disappoint, Lij eases the bathroom door shut with his foot and leans back against it, arms crossed. He drops his voice to barely more than a whisper. "You know, I've been wondering how you two sleep in the same bed without touching each other. How do you possibly deal with it?" He makes a fluid presentational gesture at Billy. "And now I have my answer."

Billy grimaces and spits some foam into the sink. "The fuck does that mean?" How he hates the way Elijah always knows just the right thing to say to get to him.

"Bill. You're my best friend. And I'm not a _complete_ fucking idiot." Billy continues brushing with fervor. Elijah tries calming him with a gentle hand to the small of his back. "You want him. I mean, you really, _really_ want him. And you try your damnedest to hide it, but I can still see it because I know you."

Billy merely gives him a stern look before he leans over to spit. He doesn't take care when nudging Elijah out of the way and nearly rips the washcloth off the rack to wipe his mouth.

Elijah hesitates, looking at him. "I know it's been a long time."

A wave of emotion suddenly rushes over Billy's face, and he stares at his feet in an effort to compose himself.

"And I know that what Braedan—"

Billy inhales sharply and shakes his head. "Don't. Don't mention him."

"Okay, fair enough. My point is that I know some stupid part of you thinks you don't deserve this, but that couldn't be further from the truth. You deserve it more than anyone I know. You've earned it tenfold."

Billy nearly laughs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He can't believe he's having this conversation at fucking half-six on Christmas morning. " _Deserve_ has nothing to do with it. Do you not remember how we all met, the four of us? Or are you really just that bloody naive? This is their _livelihood_ , Lij. It's what they _do_. And I respect it, I've got nothing but respect for the situations they're both in and what they need to do to get by. _But we paid to sleep with them._ What you and Orlando have is not a relationship. There's no loyalty there. You know that, right? He's still working, isn't he?"

Elijah shifts his weight, his voice unwavering. "Like I said, I'm not a complete fucking idiot. Forget about me and Orlando. How do you feel about Dom? _Be honest_."

"Dom." Billy's voice drops to a nearly inaudible whisper. "That was a mistake. And I regret it. It confused me."

Lij actually rolls his eyes, and for a moment, Billy wants to hit him.

"That's _all_ ," he insists. When Elijah merely glares at him in response, he sighs, exasperated. "And even if... even if we'd met another way, I." He shrugs, at a loss. "I don't think I'm made for that anymore. Maybe I never was."

All at once, the hard edges of Elijah's expression crack and dissolve. He curls his fingers lightly around Billy's shoulder and moves to speak.

"Please, just let it be." Billy sounds tired as he pulls Elijah's hand off of him and gives it a squeeze. "Happy Christmas."

When Billy trudges back into the guest room, Dominic is nowhere to be found and his side of the bed is neatly made. Billy hears the faint sounds of pots and pans clattering downstairs, and he's not sure why, but he feels an intense, biting remorse.

*  
 **8:00AM**

By the time Elijah and Orlando finally make their way downstairs, Deb and Hannah are enjoying their morning coffee by the tree and Dominic has a gastronomic symphony going in the kitchen. The counter is positively covered in a methodical mess—sausage, potato wedges, granola french toast, and half of last night's ham on the ready—and Dom is covered in one less methodical (egg stains on his shirt and spots of flour on his face). His glasses hang from the collar of his t-shirt.

"Happy Christmas, Mum!" Orlando crows, giving him a squeeze from behind.

"Jesus Christ, do you need help?" Elijah laughs.

"No, all under control," Dominic smiles, crouching to peer into the oven.

"God, that smells amazing. What is that?" Elijah tries to sneak a peek over his shoulder.

"Baked omelet. Three different cheeses, onions, and mushrooms." Dominic rises to his feet again, smiling sheepishly. "And biscuits."

"How come you never cook like this for us, you wanker?" Orlando pouts.

Dominic rummages through the cabinets for plates. "Clean the bathroom every once in a while and maybe I'll consider it," he mutters, then preemptively shields himself against Orlando's pinches.

"Let me set the table at least." Elijah takes the pile of plates from Dom and haphazardly sifts through drawers for cutlery, piling it on top of them. "Dom, this is so nice of you. Seriously."

"I like doing it." Dominic greases up a couple of pans and sets them over twin flames. "It's the least I can do. You invited me here when you barely knew me."

Orlando gasps, pulling glasses down from the top shelves of a cabinet. "Do I hear bonding? Is that what's happening here?"

"Fuck off," Dom moans through a smile.

Orlando gives him another insistent cuddle, directing his question to Elijah across the room: "Does this mean you're not afraid of my little roommate here anymore?"

Elijah splutters, his whole face flushing. "You... _you fucking asshole!_ "

"Language!" Deb scolds from the other room, causing Dom and Orlando to silently lose their shit.

Billy enters then, looking all too clean and together in a bright blue button-down and light denims. "Yeah, it's Christmas. My God."

Elijah notices Dominic look him over and release a heavy exhale before turning back to his meal.

"Morning, Billy," he and Orlando sing-song.

"Okay," Dominic says with finality. "I'm making french toast, pancakes, ham, and sausage. Who wants what?"

Orlando and Elijah quickly become preoccupied with each other while setting the table, and Billy takes the opportunity to approach Dom silently, peering at the smorgasbord before him.

"Don't worry, I already have you down for ten of everything," Dominic assures him.

Billy lets out a relieved laugh, hoping Dom's poke at him is sign enough that he's still in his good graces. Still, he wants to be sure that he didn't get _too_ much of his and Elijah's conversation earlier on his way downstairs. "Smells incredible. Happy Christmas, by the way."

Dominic's eyes dart from the pans to Billy and back again, his cheeks flushed. "Thanks. You too." He tries to look busy, forking a pair of ham steaks into a pan. "Um. Did you sleep alright?"

Billy remembers the way he woke up and smiles to himself. "Yeah. Why?"

"Just making sure. I have a tendency to move around some, and when I got up you were already up, so."

"No, I slept well," Billy insists. "Had some weird dreams, though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, one of those dreams where you're paralyzed. And I was in a situation where I _really_ wanted to move." If Billy could, he'd kick himself in the arse for being so needlessly forthcoming. He decides to blame the image of Dom in front of a stove for his babbling.

"A-ha." Dominic smiles knowingly, lining up a bunch of sausages in the other pan. "Um." The timer on the oven goes off, and he turns the dial down all the way. "Remind me later, I have to show you something." A mischievous spark in his eyes belies his nonchalant tone.

*  
 **11:13AM**

After a long breakfast and "the ceremonial giving of the gifts," as Deb had referred to it (and at which Elijah and Hannah groaned), Dominic, Billy, and Orlando retreat to the kitchen to give the Woods some family time—and to munch on breakfast leftovers.

Sat before a plate piled high with omelet and french toast, Billy takes his first bite and groans with pleasure. "Dom, can you be my live-in cook?"

"Sorry, mate, he's mine." Orlando ruffles Dominic's hair, taking another bite of sausage. "By the way, Billy, you look right fucking gorgeous this morning. How is it you don't have a boyfriend?"

Dominic bites his thumb in an effort to not kick him under the table.

Billy, for his part, wonders how many times he's going to have some variation on this conversation today. In this case, he's more flattered than annoyed, but still. "Can I pass on that question?" he asks, feigning playfulness.

"It was less a question than an offer," Orlando drawls, and this time, Dominic actually kicks him. "Oi! Ow!"

Billy looks up from his plate, this time with a genuine smile.

"Stop flirting," Dominic chides. "You're making him uncomfortable. Bloody shameless, you are."

"No, it's alright. Ehm." Billy wipes his mouth and shrugs. "I guess you can say I've been burned once or twice. And since then, I've been very careful about who I get involved with."

Dominic keeps his eyes in his lap, pretending to be distracted by a hole in his sweatpants and not by trying to commit this to memory.

"Plus, I'm just kind of picky." Billy punctuates the statement by stealing a sausage link off of Orlando's plate.

And that, unfortunately, is that. Orlando seems satisfied, but Dominic's still stuck on the way Billy's voice went all breathy on the word _burned_. He watches Billy devour another plateful of his breakfast, trying to figure out more via osmosis or telepathy. The idea that Billy may have been hurt by someone in some big, heart-altering way starts to make a hell of a lot of sense. Dominic's known since day one that Billy has a sort of protective shell around him; he's shining it up real hard right now, actually. Dominic likes to think that he's cracked it somewhat over the last few weeks, and he likes to think that if they were alone right now, Billy'd be more likely to elaborate and less likely to rely so much on his charm.

When Billy finishes (in record time), he leans back with a heavy sigh. "Thank you again, Dom." Dominic smiles at him, utterly pleased with himself. "Didn't you say you had something to show me? Some great big mysterious thing?"

Dominic rises with a firm nod, thankful that they'll be alone again in a minute; perhaps the telepathy worked after all. He lowers his head with a respectful smile as they pass through the living room, and when they start ascending the stairs, his heart begins to throb heavily in his chest. He wonders idly if there's any way he can change his mind, figure out something else to show Billy, something less incriminating.

But when he turns to look at Billy in the guest room, _their_ guest room, Billy's looking back at him with such a sweet expectancy that Dominic can't help but go through with it. He crouches by his duffel, reaches down into the bottom, and pulls out a slender black binder. After a deep breath, he flips the cover open to the first photo and presents it in front of him like a picture book.

It takes a moment for Billy to recognize himself, and when he does, he flushes with embarrassment, covering his mouth.

Dominic is sure _he_ should be the embarrassed one, but he tries his best to stand tall, figuring it'll be better for his case than shuffling his feet like an anxious schoolgirl. "I took them last weekend, when I was sick and you came by," he explains unnecessarily.

" _Dom_ ," Billy drops his hand and finally approaches to get a closer look. "My God." His eyes scan the lines of the photo. "This is beautiful. This might be the only photo of myself I can stand to look at," he laughs.

Dominic notices Billy's eyes fill with something he's never seen before, and a sharp, silly thrill bubbles up in his chest. "There's more." He cradles the binder in his arms and flips to the next page, two variations on the first photo at different apertures. "It's not the same image—they're slightly different. They were all taken one right after the other, very quickly. So it's sort of like a reel." He flips to the next two, waits a beat, then flips again. "See?"

"Wow. ...You printed these last week?" Billy's voice goes soft and thoughtful.

"Yeah. Well, just this Saturday, actually. Spent all day in the computer lab. I wanted to mount them, so you could hang them somewhere, properly—you have all that great wall space in your flat—but I didn't have the time. It took me forever just to choose which shots I wanted."

Billy wraps his arms around himself, unable to take his eyes off the binder. "I'm overwhelmed."

"You don't have to consider it a _gift_ or anything," Dominic quickly explains. "I did them for class, anyway. My teacher made me, actually. She keeps encouraging me to do more human subjects, but I think she just really likes your face."

Billy bites his lip, now feeling truly despicable for how defensive he'd gotten with Elijah this morning, the crude way he'd talked about Dom. Even though Dominic obviously has no idea, he feels a pressing need to make it up to him somehow. "This is incredibly sweet. Thank you."

"'S yours." Dominic holds the binder out to him two-handed. Before Billy can say anything more, Dominic runs a hand through his unruly hair and heads for the bathroom. "I need a shower." He leaves Billy standing there dumbly, clutching the binder to his chest.

When Dominic closes the bathroom door behind him, he scrubs his hands over his face, a full-body tremble going through him. What a release that'd been; he never even thought he'd go through with it.

He gathers a towel from the cabinet and hangs it from the rack next to the shower stall, unable to get the smile off his face. It takes him a long moment to realize that his vision's not quite what it should be, that he's forgotten his glasses downstairs in the kitchen. After a deep breath, he flings the door open, thankful to discover that Billy's no longer upstairs, that he won't have to face him again so soon—and acting like a preschooler, no less.

Dominic trots halfway down the staircase when he hears a muffled conversation coming from below. Lij's house has one of those weird accordion doors at the bottom of the stairs, for what, he's not sure, as the Woods don't keep any pets or anything. He's grateful for it now, though, as it keeps him from being discovered eavesdropping.

Billy and Deb's voices are unmistakable, probably the two most distinct in this house full of family and guests, actually. They speak low and sweet to each other, privately. Dominic can almost see Deb having pulled Billy aside by the arm for a chat in the corner of the living room, or vice versa.

 _Thank you so much, again, for having me._ Billy's voice is a fond caress—even more so than usual.

_Oh, please. And hey, you're always welcome as long as you bring Dom with you. I think I have breakfast leftovers for the next week._

Dominic hears Billy laugh. _Yeah, he's great, isn't he?_ That he manages to stay absolutely still through that remark is no small miracle.

Deb drops her voice even lower. _I meant to tell you this earlier—I feel like such an asshole—but the first day you guys came, I said something to him, thinking you guys were..._

Dominic feels his heart give a start. He leans forward uncontrollably, the stair letting out a small creak in protest.

There's a bit of a shiver in Billy's voice. _Oh, that's alright. 'S an honest mistake._

_I'm sorry. I just assumed, you know? And I mean, the way you are with each other..._

Dominic closes his eyes, listening, one hand clutching the banister.

_No, no, we're not. We're just friends._

_I know_ , Deb assures him in that gentle, I'm-not-trying-to-meddle-I-swear way she has. There's a long silence, and Dominic realizes belatedly that he should probably decide on a course of action: _upstairs or downstairs, fuckwit._ But Deb's voice stops him again before he can move.

_It's just a shame, though. I hope you don't mind me saying._

_No_ , Billy assures her after a pause—but he definitely sounds more than slightly uncomfortable.

_I love you both to death. I know I haven't known Dom very long, but I just think you'd be great together._

Dominic has to suppress the urge to bang his head against the wall. He couldn't have put more perfect words in Deb's mouth if he'd tried. Still, he isn't sure he wanted her to actually _say_ them. He listens for a response from Billy.

 _Well_ , he starts, sounding amused, and then there's a long pause before: _I don't think I'm Dom's type._

Dominic actually flinches. _The fuck?_ He comes back to his body, collects himself, and turns, climbing back up to the bathroom and shutting the door quietly behind him, forgetting his glasses for the time being. He leans back against the door, holding his breath. _I don't think I'm Dom's type._ What the fuck does _that_ mean? To be fair, Dominic tells himself, it probably doesn't mean anything; it was probably just something to get Deb off his back. They'd all done their share of that over the past few days, with all the posturing and flat-out made-up shite about their personal and professional lives (oh, how blurry that line had become as of late). But of all the things to say, that?

And the _way_ Billy'd said it, that was the real killer: that smug tone, nearly identical to the one he'd used with his students in that fucking lecture what felt like ages ago. Dominic clenches his eyes and gives his head a violent shake, hoping to shake that sound right the fuck out of it. It doesn't work.

He quickly moves to turn on the water, closing his eyes and taking deep, calming breaths as he slips his t-shirt over his head and pushes his sweatpants down, letting them pool at his feet. He gives his shoulders a good roll before pushing the curtain aside and climbing into the tub. The hot water is soothing against his body (usually so warm, somehow penetrated to the bone by the chill in this drafty old house), but not nearly soothing enough.

What a slap in the face. No matter how hard he tries, Dominic knows he'll be reeling from it for a while, at least for the rest of his time here.

Why did he have to give him the bloody pictures? That was so unnecessary.

Dominic scrubs his hands through his hair, working the water down to the roots. He can't help feeling betrayed, which, when he lays all the facts out on the table, is downright irrational. There's no real sense of loyalty between the two of them. Billy doesn't owe him anything. Maybe overhearing that conversation was a needed reminder of all that, of just how long they _haven't_ known each other, of how little they still know about each other. Dominic can't expect anything from him. Billy's made himself really fucking clear that he doesn't want anything to happen between them again.

He shakes his head at himself, eyeing the frost on the little window beside him. A persistent chill goes through him just looking at it.

After all he's been through, how could he have been so naive? He thinks of his john from last year, that kind smile, the deep lines of sympathy around his eyes as he cradled Dom's face in one of his big, lovely hands and asked, _What did you think this was, cherub?_

Leaning one-handed against the tiles, he finally lets out a stubborn sob, thankful that it doesn't turn into actual tears.

*  
 **9:11PM**

Billy leans his hip against the door frame, arms crossed. "Hey. Are you for bed already?"

Dominic's body goes rigid. "Yeah," he answers without raising his eyes. "Don't want to sleep in the car." His hands slow, taking their time folding up his clothes, laying them perfectly square and flat in his duffel. When he leans down to pick up another dirty pile of sweats, his bangs fall into his eyes, and he blows them out of his face with a scowl.

Billy comes forward and tentatively reaches a hand out to muss them, push them back. Dominic leans purposefully away from the touch, and the air vibrates uncomfortably around them.

"Why d'you keep it so long? If it annoys you." Billy tries to keep his voice light, but Dominic knows he can sense something's off. He gets a sick thrill from it.

"Makes me look younger," Dominic answers automatically, crouching to stuff pairs of socks into the side pockets. "Attracts the right kind of client. Attracts more clients, generally." It's not intentional, but it sounds almost as if he's mocking Billy's tone from earlier.

"Hm," Billy finally answers after a long moment, lingering there before moving to lounge on his side of the bed.

Dominic smiles to himself a little, knowing Billy can't see it; it feels so powerful to finally be the one doing the unhinging. He can even hear Billy fidgeting behind him.

"What d'you suppose would have happened... if Orlando had been around, the night we met?" Billy asks quietly.

And with that single question goes any semblance of control Dom thought he had. His fingers freeze on a pair of boxers, mind racing as to where Billy's going with this. "...I suppose we'd never have met."

The quiet that follows is colder than any Dominic's ever experienced.

"Yeah?" Billy's voice has dropped to almost a whisper.

Dominic shrugs noncommittally, not wanting to think—or talk—about this. He'd rather talk about why the fuck Billy invited him here in the first place.

"I've thought about it quite a bit," Billy admits. "A lot of things have had to happen to get us here, where we are right now."

Dominic tries not to wonder what he means by that, where they are right now. He's tempted to turn around, to see exactly what Billy looks like, if there's something more there, lying just underneath his words. "Why are you—?" he starts, exasperated. There are too many ways to finish that question. He suddenly feels like a huge prat; it's not like Billy said anything criminal earlier. But the way he said it... "Sorry, I'm tired," Dominic says dismissively but with more sympathy than he's given Billy most of the day.

"'S alright," Billy breathes, rising and moving slowly across the room again. "I'll leave you to it." He walks through the door without a parting touch or glance.

Dominic almost feels guilty, zipping up his bag. He turns to his rucksack, takes out a book on celluloid photography, and flops onto his back with it, thumbing to where he dog-eared the last page, one he tried in vain to read the night before, with Billy beside him getting ready for bed. He finds it impossible to read it now, too, though he's alone. It's impossible for him to think of anything but where he's going to take things from here. He wonders if Billy even knows it's a decision he's trying to make.

 

 


	23. Fic: Boston (31/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're familiar with me and my journal, then you'll know who the OMC is based on. If not, [this](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kyzsp4HIbV1qzytr2o1_500.jpg) is a good reference. :D

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Home again.  
 **Note:** If you're familiar with me and my journal, then you'll know who the OMC is based on. If not, [this](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kyzsp4HIbV1qzytr2o1_500.jpg) is a good reference. :D  


**SCENE 31. - INT. THE JUNCTION BAR - WEDNESDAY NIGHT**

Dominic and Orlando's first night back in town finds them in an all-too-familiar place, but one Dominic hasn't seen in quite a while. They'd discovered The Junction a few years ago, back when they were still getting a handle on how they'd run this operation together—or when Dominic was, more like. A typical Southie bar, The Junction is ample with a divey feel, big enough to accommodate but not impress, perfect for its (mostly) young, (mostly) straight patrons. It had quickly become their go-to bar for situations that call for a little more discretion, for johns who don't want to pick them up near their building or on some street corner but who can't afford a more secretive form of communication.

With a crowd of mainly locals and students, it's the perfect place to get lost and not be remembered. Tonight, as any other night, it's a cacophony of forced girlish laughter, table slamming, and chair screeching. It all dances around Dominic in a blurry, kaleidoscopic rush. He doesn't want to go home, though; he'd forced himself out of their flat on Orlando's heels to beat the sunset, the morning's sickening car ride still heavy in his chest. Billy'd stared at him for the better part of an hour like he was a jigsaw puzzle. He doesn't want to be alone in a dark flat with that image, no.

Dominic orders a second glass of scotch (he's not fucking around tonight) and drains it fast, hoping it'll work quicker than the first. He finds himself getting increasingly frustrated by all these kids who know so much more than he does and yet nothing in comparison. He's tempted to pick a fight with the large undergrad next to him who keeps nudging him in the side with his elbow, but he can't even find the energy to rise from his stool.

"...Dom. _Dom._ " Orlando nudges him from the other side.

It suddenly hits him that Orli's been talking for the past five minutes, something about Angie, but he'd lost the thread about four minutes ago. "Fuck. Sorry."

Orlando gives him a sad, sympathetic smile. "'S alright, mate." He waits, nursing his beer in slow motion as if to make up for Dom's gluttony.

When a third scotch is placed in front of him, Dominic merely stirs it with his finger, watching the ice melt into it. "I can't believe I kept letting myself believe he might change his mind." He turns and watches the guy on his other side move to a table in the back, thankful for the space. " _Change his mind_ is the wrong way of saying it, I guess. He never felt that way about me."

Orlando's tone is gentle but impervious. "What did you expect? Look at what he does for a living. It never would've worked. You're from two different worlds."

 _We're not though_ , Dominic thinks with more than a little petulance. He considers snapping back at Orlando about he and Elijah, how that's going, but ultimately decides against it; Orli's taken his share of shit from Dom over the past few weeks—the past few years, really—he doesn't need it or deserve it just now. And the truth is, though he doesn't want to be alone, Dominic's not really keen on confrontation either.

He bounces his leg up and down against the bar stool and looks at his watch. It's only been about half an hour, but he figures Orlando'll be picked up any minute now, if not by a john then by a casual patron who doesn't know any better. Orlando's had his share of "pro bono" cases at The Junction, but Dominic can tell just by the tight set of his shoulders that he's not up for that tonight. Dominic realizes with some alarm that he hasn't even considered what he's going to do if someone approaches _him_ , john or otherwise.

"I can't do this anymore." His quick words startle him as much as they do Orlando.

Orlando swallows, eyeing the bartender. "What?"

"You know what."

Orlando gives him an exasperated look that's just shy of an incredulous head shake.

"Not because of Billy, just." Dominic shifts in his seat, batting his glass back and forth like a cat. "It's been a long time coming. I don't belong in this anymore."

"We've had this conversation before," Orlando scoffs.

Dominic knows not to mistake hurt for dismissive, though, not from Orlando. He turns to him, imploring. "Orli, I mean it. I'm done." He shifts closer so their arms are flush, his voice going low and intense. "We always talk about doing things, doing the things we want to do, and we never do. When is that going to happen? If not now, when?"

Orlando stares into the space behind the bar, silent.

"I'm fucking tired of waiting."

After a long, quiet moment, Orlando drains the rest of his beer. "What are you going to do, then? For money?" It's more a challenge than a question.

"I don't know," Dominic snaps, quickly losing his patience. "Not this."

Orlando stares at him, at a loss and clearly annoyed. He opens his mouth to reply, then thinks better of it. "Need the loo," he mutters, sliding forcefully out of his stool and leaving Dominic a little too alone with his thoughts.

Dominic sighs, looking around, all the noise suddenly coming in clearer and more intrusive. He wishes he hadn't brought all that up just now, but he couldn't have helped it if he tried; between the alcohol and his own self-pity, there isn't a filter to be found for him. He jerks a little in his seat as his mobile vibrates across the surface of the bar like a scared animal, not unlike the many he's photographed. He picks it up and grimaces, completely unsurprised to see a text from Billy, probably something innocuous and not even close to what he wants to hear from him (and never will). He resolutely slams his phone shut, ignoring it, and empties his scotch, motioning for yet another. He props his elbows up on the wood and buries his face in his hands, the heels of his palms digging into his eyelids.

The stool on the other side of him—the one that bull of a kid had abandoned—screeches against the floor as it's occupied by a new body. Dominic is poised for a greeting, and when it doesn't come, he breathes a sigh of gratitude.

"Jameson, straight," comes in loud, clear, and sure from his new neighbor. There's a beat, the sense of the bartender moving away, then: "You alright there?"

Dominic hopes the guy isn't addressing him, but of course that's not the case. When he raises his head from his hands, he meets a pair of amused but sympathetic eyes. Dominic barely gives the guy the once over, so when he burrows into his palms again, he's left only with the faint impression of a suit and dark, neatly trimmed hair. _Investment banker._ "'F you're looking for Orlando, he's in the loo. Restroom."

A hint of laughter. "I don't know what you're talking about—I just came in here." The guy sounds so genuinely perplexed that Dominic lifts his head again to see him indicate the dusting of snow on his scarf, as if it'll provide some kind of proof that he hasn't been ogling Orlando across the room waiting for the right moment. "I'm David." He extends a hand, confident but not at all pushy. "Park."

Dominic doesn't bother to hide the skepticism in his eyes. "Sounds like a name in a children's book." He's going for an insult, but David Park seems to like it, ducking his head and smiling, and _fuck_ , that's gorgeous. Dominic finds it's contagious, too, as a smile of his own finally works its way across his face, the first of the night. He keeps a drop of that skepticism in it, though, as he takes David's hand and with it, a more lingering look. "Dom."

The first word that pops into Dom's head as he casually examines David is _neat_. It's not just the black overcoat, suit, and perfectly pressed shirt and tie, either; David's face is the epitome of symmetry and economy, even more so than Billy's. Dominic's never been to Asia, but he assumes David's is the kind of face likely to be found on billboards for men's razors in Tokyo or Hong Kong or something.

"Just Dom?" And there's another variation on that smile, this time something more playful, more of a smirk, and that's gorgeous too.

 _That's the protocol_ , Dominic nearly snarks back but bites his tongue in favor of seeing where this is going. They've both had their share of finance guys, he and Orlando (especially Orlando), but there's something just slightly off about this one. He's too young, too attractive, too together, not at all the type. Then again, neither was Billy. Dominic's original idea that maybe David was referred by Angie has to go right out the window, and he finds himself searching his own private arsenal of johns past for possible suspects.

"Okay, fair enough." David raises an eyebrow, hiding the rest of his expression with that first sip.

Dominic watches him sink into his stool with a feeling of sick pleasure. "You look a bit slick for this place, eh? Shouldn't you be at Umbria or something?"

"Have you eaten there?" David suddenly transforms into an excitable kid. "I hear they have eighty-dollar crab legs."

And this reaction is so unexpected, so thoroughly charming, that Dominic laughs, full-on laughs. He _has_ sampled said crab legs, actually, part of a joint venture with Orlando and a couple of VPs last May, but he decides not to share that. It's been two long weeks since he's done this, but it's just like riding a bike, as they say, parsing out just the right amount of information, just the right _kind_ of information.

"Can I buy you a drink?" David's question, again, comes smooth and almost practiced, and for a second, Dominic almost believes he's in the middle of a commercial with him.

" _Please_ ," he answers automatically, the combination of a nice buzz, the surprise of David, and other things suddenly putting him in the mood to maybe entertain the thought of working tonight. Maybe.

While David orders another round (a fresh scotch for Dominic and a preemptive second Jameson for himself), Dominic whips his head around, finding Orlando chatting up some bloke just a few tables away. Orlando must have spotted them on his way back and taken the hint, ever the accommodating partner.

"So, David Park," Dominic rumbles, David's alias sounding even more stagey in his own mouth. "What do you do?" As if he has to ask.

David sinks a bit again, looking bashful. "I work for Merrill Lynch."

Dominic gives an exaggerated nod as if that's news to him, all the while giving himself points for calling it. He's pretty sure he can make up the rest of David's backstory, too: just a few years out of school, still closeted, maybe fooled around with a couple of guys in college, but that's it. None of that matters, though, at least not as much as the fact that David's beautiful and talking to him, putting a fine gloss on how this usually goes.

"It's boring," David continues. "Usually. But this week was... incredibly fucking boring," he laughs. "So. Let's not discuss it any further. All discussions of work off the table, as a matter of fact."

 _Oh, you're good_ , Dominic thinks with a smile.

"Unless," David raises his eyes, "you like what you do."

 _Not always. But tonight, I will._ "No. That's fine," Dominic says lightly, turning his body more, shifting closer. "No work."

" _Work_ ," David mimics his accent, leaning closer, too, watching his mouth move. "That's... I love that."

"It has its _perks_ ," Dominic shoots back with a smirk of his own, and David bursts into laughter. "The accent, I mean, not _work_ ," Dominic continues, milking it. And just like that, it's happening, Dominic can feel it, can feel them tumbling toward a proposition. _Like riding a bike._

The next ten or fifteen minutes (or is it closer to an hour? Dominic can't be sure) are a blur of banter, David's smile, David's scarf, and liquid amber courage that never seems to run dry, punctuated by frequent appearances by the bartender. And even after all Dominic said to Orli earlier, the struggle he's had over the past couple of weeks—and certainly for much, much longer than that—saying yes is the easiest thing in the world. Because David is so humbly magnetic, Dominic doesn't have to think twice about ducking out into the snow and into a cab with him, nor does he have to think about what it means. He doesn't even have to give a backwards glance at Orlando, fuck him.

Fuck Billy. He can still do this, and do it well.

The cab ride downtown is whizzing by almost as fast as the scenery, and David's thigh is flush with his, even though the backseat has all the room in the world. Dominic turns from the window to watch the flecks of snow melt against the black of David's overcoat, feeling a rush. He's pretty sure he'll be amenable to anything David wants to do, short of locking him out in the cold and watching him freeze to death (Dominic's witnessed stranger fetishes in his day). He doubts that's in the cards, though; there's a warmth about David that Dominic's rarely afforded in these meetings. He tries not to think of last year's john, but a memory comes to him anyway, the feeling of being able to curl up full-body in his lap in any number of settings: a bed, a recliner, a desk chair. Those moments were usually accompanied by actual kisses on the mouth, something Dominic insisted upon rather than allowed. He still feels so foolish for that.

They pull up to a massive building right off the Common, all windows, metallic lines, and sleek angles. David fidgets a bit with his keys at the elevator bank, tossing Dominic a nervous smile, and if that isn't the sweetest thing in the world.

There's nothing to be modest about, though, when it comes to David himself or the space he occupies. His loft is modern and probably fashioned to look like every other unit in this high-rise, but there are enough personal touches scattered throughout to make it not so sterile. Dominic tucks his hands in his pockets and gives a low whistle as he strolls across David's living room to the floor-to-ceiling windows there—and the impressive view beyond. "You're doing quite well for yourself, David Park."

He hears David shuffling around in the kitchen behind him: dropping his keys into a bowl, opening and closing the fridge, lining up a pair of glasses on the counter. "Yeah," he sighs, obviously embarrassed. "There are some advantages to working a job you hate."

 _No shit_ , Dominic thinks, getting lost in his own reflection in the window, and David laughs—he must've shared the sentiment out loud. He turns just in time to see David approaching with two more glasses, half-full.

"Black Bush," he explains, offering it to Dominic.

"I've never understood why people get so shy about it," Dominic smiles, taking a generous sip. "Being rich. If I had money like this, I'd tattoo it on my forehead."

David actually blushes, ducking his head again. "I'm not used to it. My parents worked twelve hours a day seven days a week just to give me the basics."

Dominic watches David's face, wondering if that's an exaggeration. He decides he doesn't care either way; he likes it all the same. He drains his drink and hands the glass back to David, remembering how well he reacted to bold candor earlier. "Let's get a look at your room."

David blows out a dramatic puff of air. "Okay, then." He slides the empty glass onto the kitchen island, keeps his own, and leads Dominic back through the living room, through a little office alcove, and in the direction of a twisting flight of stairs in the corner.

Dominic looks up, belatedly realizing that there's a whole other level hovering over their heads. He's seen plenty of places like this (and at the other end of the spectrum as well), but it still feels a bit like being in an amusement park. David's room is, thankfully, more modest than the rest of his flat, and much more homey in decor. Dominic is instantly drawn to a bulletin board between the windows. It's relatively sparse, but what _is_ there brings a smile to his face: a photo of David in front of the Eiffel Tower with who Dominic assumes are his parents, a Jay-Z concert ticket, and a graduation cap tassel. _Harvard Class of 1994._ Dominic's eyes go wide.

"I know, not much on there. I was thinking of taking it down."

"This can't be yours," Dominic points to the tassel. David gives an elaborate shrug. "Fucking hell, that'd make you..."

"Old," David smiles. "Are you disgusted?"

" _No._ " Dominic stares at the tassel, at the year, finding it difficult to do the simple math while three-quarters of the way to sloshed. "I would've never guessed..." His voice trails off. He's had this conversation before. He turns and clears his throat, hoping it'll do something for his mind, too, so he can figure out the best way to bring up rates. David's certainly not going to be much help on that front, inching closer in a way that couldn't be less methodical. Dominic's never understood his own ability to unnerve people so much. But he knows how to use it. "You look nervous," he drawls. "You nervous, love?"

David drums his fingernails on the side of his glass, looking up at him from underneath his lashes. "Sorry. I don't really do this."

Though that admission seems genuine enough, Dominic still gives his stock response: "Heard that before, mate." He steps forward smoothly, takes the scotch from David's hand and downs it, stretching to place the empty glass on the bedside table.

"I don't. Really," David insists, hands flailing in indecision before finding solace in his pants pockets.

"I believe you," Dominic says quietly. It suddenly occurs to him that David probably doesn't get out much; he probably came straight to the bar from work, and Dominic probably mistook his barely lived-in loft for eerily neat. He probably works just as many hours as his parents did, if not more.

There's a long silence before David brings a hand up to Dominic's fringe, pushing it back out of his eyes. Dominic finds himself leaning into the touch, enjoying it. "You're pretty," David murmurs, half compliment and half tease.

"No, I'm not," Dominic responds automatically, the blur of alcohol making him skitter back toward some of those dark feelings from earlier.

David combs his fingertips through his hair again. "Yes, you are."

"No, really, I'm not," Dominic laughs ruefully. "I may not know much, but I know that's not my appeal." Comfortable though he already is with David, he finds himself feeling a little too vulnerable like this. He wants to keep it business, but he can't seem to find the words with David's touch so tentative and his voice so tender.

David's hand moves down to cradle the side of his face, and again, he leans into it. "Your eyes are... just beautiful. And I love your nose." His thumb snakes out to poke at the tip of it. "It's interesting," he smiles.

" _You love my nose?_ Alright, now I know you're really fucking crazy. I might as well tie myself to your bedpost and slit my own throat, save you the trouble, yeah?"

No sooner does Dominic dart his eyes back to David than David's stepping into his space and pressing a firm kiss to his mouth, and _Christ_ , his lips are soft, too (of course). It takes Dominic a moment to collect himself, bring his hand up to press David gently back. "Wait, I don't—"

"What?" David whispers, nervous, his hand light and tentative on the side of Dominic's neck. "I'm sorry, am I moving too fast? We really don't have to—"

With a couple of well-placed words, the entire night flashes before Dominic's eyes, lightning-quick, and it suddenly becomes clear as day what this has all been, what this _is_ right now. And it's yet another pleasant surprise. But now _he's_ nervous. "...No," he bites his lip, bringing his other hand up beside the one that's still laid over David's heart, this time to brace himself. "It's nothing." He gives David what he hopes is a reassuring smile, goes up on the balls of his feet, and kisses him chastely, his fingers now ready and waiting to take flight but suddenly without a map. For someone who makes his living doing just this, he has no fucking idea what he's doing. _How do you touch someone when it's not just about them?_

David turns the kiss into something more playful, nibbling gently at Dominic's bottom lip, drawing a throaty little moan out of the back of his throat. "That nice?" David whispers, and Dominic merely _mm_ s in response, diving up and in for more.

As he's licking along the seam of David's mouth, Dominic thinks of Billy's lips against his cheek, can literally feel his teeth biting down the side of his neck. He trembles, curls his tongue wetly around David's, and starts pulling his necktie apart. He probably _is_ moving too fast, at least from what he remembers, but David doesn't seem to mind, his hands already reaching down to make work of Dominic's belt, and _Fuck_ , Dominic thinks, _this is so real._

His hands fumble with the tie, fingertips all but getting caught in the knot at the juncture of David's collar before finally abandoning it in favor of sliding up into the hair at the back of his head, bringing him down almost forcefully to lay further claim to his mouth. Dominic nearly stumbles into him in an effort to bring them flush, and David laughs into his mouth, his own hands losing their place at Dominic's waist. Dominic hardly notices, though; he's feeling greedy, spurred by the tangle of limbs and the intoxicating exchange of breath, his lips and teeth leaving marks on David's chin, along his jaw, and down the elegant column of his neck.

David's skin, his hair, his scent is all wrong, but that's fine. Dominic trades the thick, jet black strands between his fingers for something softer and finer, the sinewy biceps against his middle for something bulkier, meatier, more stable. David's mouth is curvy and almost feminine like Billy's, but the story behind it isn't the same, not at all. Not that Dominic would know, but he's imagined it enough, watched it form words he's committed to memory.

David pulls them apart, hands coming up to cradle Dom's face, his thumbs copping another gentle caress at his cheekbones. "Hold on a second." He presses a distraction of a kiss to Dom's mouth as his palms skate down his neck, his chest, and then his sides to circle around his waist.

Dominic closes his eyes, breathes in and out through his nose, and tries to just give over, clear his mind, let David take them where they both need to go. Before he knows it, he's slowly spinning, falling—no, David's _lowering_ him onto his back, breathing puffs of life into him the whole way down. He tears his mouth away with a sigh and watches David drop out of his line of vision. His eyes drift to the ceiling, his hands restless against David's duvet, and he hears the whisper of his shirt being inched up before he even feels it ride past his navel. A wonderful little mouth chases the hem of his shirt, and an ache twists his heart.

_Billy._

He wonders if Billy'll ever touch him like this again, if he'll ever have the privilege of touching Billy again. God, he'll kill the next person who does.

_No. Fuck Billy, remember?_

Dominic's shirt is still rucked up underneath his armpits when David stands tall at the foot of the bed, undoing the mess Dominic made of his tie only moments ago. Dominic looks down at him and doesn't have to force a smile, even with his mind reeling and his heart a scramble; David is gorgeous and attentive and perfect and _here_.

Dominic stretches his arms up over his head and arches his back just so, fingers loose and unconcerned with righting his shirt. It's just so good to feel wanted. His smile turns to a smirk. "Go on, then."

 

 


	24. Fic: Boston (32-34/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh real life, why must you get in the way of my fic?

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Elijah's birthday.  
 **Note:** Oh real life, why must you get in the way of my fic?  


**SCENE 32. - EXT. PARK STREET T STATION - ELIJAH'S BIRTHDAY 9:00PM**

Billy nearly buries himself in his peacoat as he and Elijah emerge from the stairway, taking brief solace in the awning before they both squint, scrunch their shoulders up to their ears, pinch their mouths, and plow ahead. The cold is unforgiving tonight, flurries coming down in quick, shiny spikes that'll morph into a deluge in a couple of hours.

"It's not far." Elijah keeps his eyes straight ahead even as he reassures Billy.

"Alright," Billy mumbles absently, raising his eyes to the grey-black sky, the flurries looking increasingly monstrous as they fall to his face. It's too appropriate, he thinks; it's been weeks, nearly a month since they'd gone to Elijah's house for Christmas, a near-month of surprising reprieve from the snow, an eerie calm. There'd even been a few days where the temperature had jumped back into the fifties.

All those days of quiet, without a word from Dominic.

New Year's had been the most quiet of all, Billy spending it on the couch with a pile of films and a small bottle of J&B that'd been hiding in the back of his pantry—despite Elijah coaxing him mercilessly to come out with he and Orlando.

To be fair, Dominic hasn't been totally silent. There have been half-hearted texts, all prompted by one inane question or another from Billy, and they've all seemed obligatory, like Dom's just trying to appease him or assure him that he doesn't hate his guts (even though he very well might). It's all left Billy anxious, wondering every other minute what Dominic could be doing or thinking, wondering if perhaps they'll happen upon each other on the street, like that late night after the library, with Dom more tired than drunk and Orlando high. It's been an awful lot like those first days, actually, Dominic's mystery sort of reattaching itself to him, Billy with no clue where they stand or where he stands or if they'll ever see each other again. In a moment of desperation, sometime during the second week, Billy'd asked Elijah if he knew anything about it, if Orlando'd said anything. Elijah had given only the most monumentally frustrating answer in the world: _Um, we're a little busy when we're together, Bill._

Before Billy realizes it, he and Elijah are walking up a narrow storefront staircase, one that's the opposite of inviting (though Billy's certainly seen worse). They stop on a landing, and Billy reads scribbled words on the wall next to his face as Elijah rings a bell.

The door creaks open, and Elijah laughs, "Hi," to someone Billy can't yet see.

 

**SCENE 33 - INT. THE TREMONT TEA ROOM - A MOMENT LATER**

When Billy finally makes his way over the threshold, whoever had let them in has disappeared behind a bejeweled curtain across the room. Elijah leans into him, speaking low, excited words. "It's so fucking cool. Our boss took us all here before Christmas and paid for our readings."

Billy smiles graciously, indulging him, but he's distracted.

Elijah watches him. "Hey," he bumps their shoulders. He leans in again, dropping his voice even lower, much to Billy's amusement. "Do you want me to tell Orlando not to bring Dom tonight?" He pulls his phone from his coat pocket.

Billy holds out a hand, urging it back down to Elijah's side. "Don't be daft." He doubts Dominic will come, anyway. He hates that it's come to this, and so quickly. But then, what was he expecting?

The reader emerges from that same curtain, a woman in her late thirties or early forties with leathery skin, shorn hair, and a warm smile. She's tiny, and wears a pair of denims and a tee, and Billy doesn't know what he expected here, either—a stout woman in gypsy skirts, maybe—but this wasn't it. "Hi, I'm Tina," she says, all business. "Are you doing the leaves?"

"No," Elijah says just as firmly but still with that silly smile, "I did the leaves last time I was here. I think I'll do the tarot reading."

"Good," she smiles, ushering the two of them to a long table at the center of the room.

Billy shakes his head, tossing the both of them a polite smile—"I'll just"—and sits in a lonely-looking chair at the other end of the room to wait awkwardly. He starts to zone out as the repeated sound of shuffling cards fills the silence. He hasn't been able to shake this pissy, dark mood of his, not since going back to Suffolk two weeks ago for his first dreaded meeting with Sherlock since before break. Billy'd been certain that the act of him handing that formidable stack of pages in would change something between them, end something, but the prick bastard was still clinging to those final threads of authority, delaying Billy's defense as long as he could without the bloody dean coming after him.

Billy raises his eyes to Elijah, watching with a small smile as he leans closer to Tina, his eyes intense, their voices intimate. He suddenly wants a reading of his own, for a laugh and maybe some idea of when the fuck he's going to finish this degree, if nothing else. He rises and approaches the table quietly, slithering into the chair next to Elijah to catch the end of his session. He doesn't quite understand it all, but it has something to do with Elijah being more honest with himself and with others, something vague and unimpressive.

Elijah lets Tina's seemingly empty words drop heavily into the air between them, expanding. He inhales. "Thank you."

They both turn to Billy as if noticing his presence for the first time. Tina narrows her eyes playfully. "Are you sure you don't want a reading?"

"Do it, Bill," Elijah urges in a whisper, and Billy gives a shrug as if that's convinced him.

He and Elijah switch seats, and Tina shuffles rhythmically again, making Billy cut the deck a number of times, gathering the cards he's extracted in a tiny pile that manages to unhinge him slightly. "It's best to keep a particular question in mind," she tells him, and he gives her a quick nod and a smile, signaling his readiness.

Tina speaks as she lays the cards out in a sort of cross pattern, suddenly sounding much less full of shite than she had giving Lij's fortune. Billy's eyes roam the artwork, the surprisingly violent pictures on the cards, with mild interest. The Death card at the center is particularly unsettling. Tina smiles, noting the expression on his face. "It's not meant to be taken literally. This is your recent past. Death can represent the end of anything, putting something behind you, possibly a person or a situation. There's something you are trying to get past, but you aren't there yet—it's not quite finished with you."

Billy wants to adopt one of Elijah's trademark phrases: _No shit._

"It will resolve itself soon enough, though. You just have to be patient." She lays another card across that one: The Wheel of Fortune. "And this is your immediate present. You are at a turning point. You're leaving something behind and moving forward—there are endless possibilities now. But you don't know which path to take. Don't worry: your path will find you. But you have to trust your instinct." She points to the card in the lower righthand corner. "See? This is you: The Fool."

Elijah laughs, and Billy gives a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head.

"No," she leans toward him, her hand lighting on the backs of his knuckles. "This is a good thing. You've been The Hierophant," she points to the card above it, picturing a gentleman on a throne with a scepter. "Following rules, being sensible, following convention and never straying. But you must let this go, embrace a new potential future, even if it seems... scary. You have to give yourself the room to be more spontaneous and follow your heart."

Billy nods, his eyes remaining on the spread of cards. It sounds convincing enough; Sherlock's had him following the rules for the past three years of his post-graduate life, and he's more than ready to leave all that behind. Maybe leave Boston behind, too.

The rest of Tina's reading is quick and overwhelming, too much for Billy to take in all at once. What manages to stick with him, though, is a card with a picture of a blindfolded woman crossing two swords over her chest like a barricade, which, according to Tina, means that he's keeping someone in his life at arm's length. He doesn't have to work to think of who that might refer to, though it's Dominic that's been keeping _him_ at arm's length these days.

A knot twists itself in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Dominic showing up tonight and being just as cool as he'd been that last night at Elijah's and the morning after. Still, he'll take it over a no-show; that twee part of him that hasn't seen Dominic in weeks craves interaction, even if it's terribly awkward.

Billy pays for the both of them, giving Elijah a sweet, smiling _Happy Birthday_ even as he continues to mull over the barrage of words that Tina's piled on him. As they trot down to street level, bundled up and ready to face that cruel, biting air again, Elijah pulls his phone out, the little rectangle of light illuminating nearly the entire stairwell. He inhales, turning to Billy. "Dom's coming." He waits for a reaction.

Billy merely pulls his mouth into a grim line and lowers his eyes to his feet, that knot pulling itself impossibly tight.

*

**SCENE 34. - INT. PARADISE - 10:22PM**

He hates to admit it, even to himself, but sometimes Dominic wishes he'd never met Orlando. There are endless reasons for this, too many to think of all at once, but right now the sentiment is borne of the simple act of having to leave their flat. Dominic had puttered around for ten too-short minutes after Orlando'd originally intended to leave, Orli lingering by the door with keys in hand and a buzzing energy in his limbs. He's nervous, Dominic knows, to be at a gathering with so many of Elijah's friends, co-workers, maybe even a cousin or two. _It's a bit too real, yeah?_ he'd said the night before over dinner in their tiny kitchen.

Dominic can relate; these last few weeks have felt like they belonged in some strange, half-baked alternate universe. He'd stayed at home, mostly, and out of his usual spots, resolving to not go out looking for clients, though they'd come looking for him. There'd been a few calls from regulars and a referral or two, all of which he'd ignored, with the exception of "Sam," who he'd indulged more for the companionship than the money (though he certainly welcomed the latter).

And then there'd been the addition of David, who was sweet and sexy and had no clue just what he was supplanting in Dominic's life, though Dominic doesn't exactly feel guilty about that. They aren't too serious, at least Dominic doesn't think so. It's hard to be when they've only seen each other a handful of times since the first.

Most unnerving of all had been the absence of Billy. It's all been Dominic's doing, of course, though there was never any intention to remove Billy from his life. He'd simply needed some time to rebuild his ego after Christmas, and a few days turned into a week, which somehow turned into all of January. It had finally gotten to the point where the Billy in Dominic's head had become a bit blurry around the edges, his features losing their reliable clarity (until Dominic had made the mistake of going back through some of his photos).

He knows he's simply delaying the inevitable. The time hasn't done much for his ego (though David has helped in his own way), or for his feelings for Billy. The fact is, he _wants_ to see him tonight; he hates how much he does.

In spite of all that—and in how long he takes getting out the door—he embodies nonchalance as he and Orlando enter the club, face relaxed and shoulders shifting with his stride as he eyes the crowd. It doesn't take long for him to find Elijah; if Orlando hadn't given it away by bounding straight for him, Elijah's loud, childish cackle and bouncing energy would have done so.

Dominic tries his best to focus, keep his cool as he gives Elijah a birthday hug, but his eyes betray him, latching onto Billy perched at the bar, hunched over, listening intently to some girl as she nearly dances in her seat with her storytelling. Dominic's not surprised to find his body reacting to him just the way it had nearly a month ago, those obnoxiously pure firecrackers of adoration going off from the pit of his stomach and bursting in his chest.

Tonight, Billy is somewhere between his usual close-shaven, tidy self and the scruffy intellectual from that lecture last month, the sleeves of his black button-down pulling tight at his biceps and a five o'clock shadow hugging his jawline. He looks infuriatingly relaxed and comfortable. The Billy from the night they first met is a stranger, someone Dominic can't even picture now, a figment of his imagination.

When their eyes meet, a split second glance that's instantly broken by Dominic, it's thankfully too loud for things to be too awkward. By the time Billy's made his way over to say hello to the two of them, the techno bass is insistent enough to fill every silence. They exchange words, he thinks, ones neither of them can hear, and there's a feeling of peace there, but an unsteady one all the same.

The four of them turn to the bar, Orlando and Dominic quickly filling both of Elijah's fists and one each of their own, Dominic with a local beer that he knows is shite but he'll swallow anyway—he's not quite in daquiri mode, yet. The bass finally lets up a bit, allowing for some surface conversation, Dominic indulging Billy's innocuous questions. It's instantly clear that he can't cut him off completely—that probably isn't ever going to be in the cards—but he wants to make him work for his attention, so he purposely avoids his eyes, even when speaking directly to him. It gives him a sick thrill to hurt him in this small way, a juvenile retribution for all the pain he's been feeling himself over the past weeks. He wants to see how far he can push it without pissing Billy off outright, something he knows Billy has in him but that he's never had the privilege of seeing.

Still, when Orlando turns talk to David, Dominic clenches up, unwilling to indulge him.

"You should see the places this guy takes him for dinner. The other night he brought home caviar in a doggie bag."

"He's full of shite," Dominic assures them, shoving Orlando. "Shut it, you. Stop exaggerating," he growls, coloring as he watches for a reaction from Billy—which he doesn't get, which is somehow worlds more satisfying. Billy occupies himself with his drink, his eyes looking everywhere but at Dominic.

Orlando pulls Dominic into his side with a gangly arm. "Oi. I've a right to know who my roommate's been spending his nights with."

And that makes Billy shift noticeably from foot to foot, his free hand shoving into a pants pocket to fidget there. Elijah wraps an arm around his shoulders, making a mirror image of Dom and Orlando. "Eh, leave him alone. He can have secrets if he wants to."

"'S nothing serious," Dominic says quickly into the neck of his bottle, watching Billy's face as he takes a swig, and _there_ —that at least brings a twitch, a change.

The truth is, Dominic's first night with David, in hindsight, had been nothing more than a cheap knockoff of his first encounters with Billy. And while it's been nice having someone to care about him in that way, to want him in that way, to kiss him, take care of him, there's been something stagy, detached about it, at least on his end. It's only a few small steps removed from some of the more pleasant encounters he's had with johns, and miles away from the few that have really gotten to him.

It doesn't take long for the crowd to pull he and Billy apart, and Dominic is thankful for the reprieve. Billy starts to look even more at home as more of Elijah's friends trickle in and find them, settling into a spot at the bar with an easy smile. Dominic spends at least the first forty minutes carrying on superficial conversation with people he doesn't know, watching all the guys whose eyes don't linger on Billy as they pass or go up for drinks, and for the thousandth time, he feels an odd pride that he sees something that they can't. Still, the idea that the rest of the night could continue just like this, with the two of them tiptoeing around each other, makes him more than a little sick to his stomach.

Running into an old acquaintance—a member of his and Orlando's small club—pulls Dominic out of his mood, at least for the time being. It feels good to let down his guard a bit, and let go of the usual pretense, even if he has started to feel more than slightly removed from that life as well. Dominic can't remember the guy's name, but a fellow hustler is always a friendly face. They have the fortune of happening upon an empty table near the bar and settle in there.

As they talk of advertising executives and their respective regular haunts, Dominic keeps an eye on Billy holding court. At one point, Elijah all but accosts him, snuggling drunkenly into his lap and nearly knocking him off his stool ( _Do you know how fucking old I am tonight, Bill?! I'm really fucking old!_ ).

Dominic's friend brushes a palm over his knuckles, pulling his attention. "Orlando tells me you're off the market these days," he simpers, gesturing with an adorned glass of pink liquid that would shame the most flamboyant patron in the place.

Dominic's eyes dart back to Billy before he realizes Orli must have told the guy about David. "I wouldn't say off the market, but um, yeah. I'm seeing someone. Casually."

"Good for you. What's he like?"

"Um. He's great," Dominic smiles, picturing David's kind eyes and soft skin and lips. "Gorgeous. Funny. I really enjoy his company." _He doesn't make me ache._

Thankfully, Dominic can sense that this is the end of the conversation. He's not sure he could find much more to say.

"Well, good luck with it. It was so good seeing you." The guy leans across the table and gives Dominic a kiss on the cheek before sashaying away, disappearing on the dance floor.

Dominic leans back in his seat, shooting a furtive look at the bar to find Billy alone with his eyes trained right back on him. Billy raises a hand in greeting, his mouth pulling into a tight grimace. Dominic simply nods and gives him a poor excuse for a smile in return. As soon as he notices Billy start to worm his way out of his seat, Dominic lowers his gaze to the table underneath his hands, examining the cracks and chips in the glass encasing. He slides his empty bottle of beer around in restless circles as Billy drops carefully into the seat across from him.

"Not really your scene, eh?" Billy half-shouts over the music.

"Hmn?" Dominic finally looks up, those missed, mossy green eyes slanted in amusement and just a hint of melancholy that Dominic wagers is another thing most people miss about Billy. "No, guess not."

"Me neither." Billy gives him a friendly smile that looks like a private peace offering. Dominic isn't sure his pride will allow him to accept it just yet. After a long moment, Billy scoots his chair closer and leans across the tiny table to better be heard. "Ehm, congratulations." Dominic narrows his eyes at him. "The guy you're seeing," Billy explains. "That's great."

The sheer flatness of Billy's tone is enough to pull a genuine smile out of Dominic. "Thank you."

"So what's he like?" Billy asks, the question sounding more like a challenge than conversation.

Dominic levels a defiant look at him. "He's nice."

"Mm," Billy nods, his lips curving into a playful grin. The song changes—the DJ's moving into the 80s part of tonight's set—but Billy doesn't miss a beat, his gaze never faltering as he urges, "Dance with me."

"I don't dance to this shite."

Billy chuffs a laugh. "All gay men dance to Madonna, it's written in the Bible."

"Gay men aren't in the Bible."

"Where do you think the term sodomy came from?" Billy reaches for Dominic's hand, wrapping his fingers loosely around his wrist instead. "Come on."

Dominic feels all of twelve as he allows himself to be pulled from his chair, his throat going dry and his pulse hammering against Billy's fingertips. He hadn't prepared himself for this.

Billy finds an empty little stretch of floor on the mezzanine level with the go-go dancers, one of Dominic's go-to spots (as if he'd ever admit he had go-to spots in Paradise), and ushers him over to the balcony, the cold bars brushing against his back through the thin material of his shirt. Billy essentially traps him there, Dominic realizing with a flush that they're standing exactly where he'd danced with Angel Billy the last time he was here.

Billy wraps confident hands around his hips and moves to pull him in tight, and Dominic can't help but resist, his stubborn ego telling him to keep his distance and not give in. Billy tilts his head at him playfully, though he still loosens his grip. "Come on." He brings his mouth next to Dom's ear. "Y'haven't married this guy yet, have you?"

Dominic swallows, draping his arms over Billy's shoulders, swaying along with him awkwardly as Madonna urges them to _get into the groove_. He really doesn't dance to this shite.

Christ, it infuriates him, how good it feels to have Billy all close to him like this again, powerful shoulders cradling him and stubble lightly scratching at his cheek. When Billy's fingers spread along the small of his back, possessive and intimate, he stiffens, moving a hand to Billy's shoulder to give it a squeeze. He tilts his mouth to his ear, holding it there for the long seconds it takes for him to garner enough courage. "I heard what you said at Christmas, to Elijah's mum."

Billy slows to a near stop. "What did I say?"

Answering that question takes even more courage. It's not until Billy pulls back and looks at him with wide, patient eyes that he's finally able to. "You said... you weren't my type. You said, 'I don't think I'm Dom's type.'" Dominic is instantly bashful; the words sound so puny out loud.

A rush seems to go through Billy's entire body, his face suddenly open and relaxed. "Is that why you were so angry the last night? Why you've been avoiding me?"

"I haven't—" Dominic starts to protest, but that sounds even more puny. "You just—the way you said it. You said it like it was some sort of fucking curse to be my type. It was insulting."

Billy scrubs his hands over his face, smiling. "I was insulting myself!" He trains his eyes on Dominic's and gives an exasperated shrug. "I don't know why I said it. I mean... You can have anyone, Dom. Don't pretend you don't know that."

Dominic drops his eyes to the floor, unable to hold back a bitter laugh. "Right."

Billy continues staring, slowly tilting his head at him until he finally cracks. "We all right, then?" He takes up one of Dominic's hands loosely in his.

"Feel like a fucking idiot."

"C'mere," Billy laughs, reeling him in for a tight hug. He expels a big breath into Dom's ear that tickles his skin, their bodies lining up perfect and warm, Dominic's igniting with the purity of recognition. "I missed you," Billy mumbles.

Dominic closes his eyes, his fingers splaying and tightening around Billy's shoulders.

"'M so glad we're talking again, it really was eating away at me," Billy laughs a little. "Silly. We've only known each other a month or so, y'know? You've worked your way under my skin, you."

They're not dancing at all anymore, just holding each other there, Dominic hooking his chin over Billy's shoulder and Billy's hand sliding up to finger at his hair. Dominic wonders if it was all just a ruse on Billy's part to get him here. "Almost two months." He opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally bringing it right up against Billy's ear again. What he says takes all the courage in the world, and it's not even the full truth. "Billy... I think you're anyone's type."

Just then, he feels something on his neck, mingling with Billy's fingers, tickling at his ears and then his own hands too. He opens his eyes: gold confetti. Of course.

He and Billy pull apart, still joined at the hip but holding each other at arm's length, Dominic's face turned to the ceiling and getting covered with flecks of shiny paper. He feels Billy's fingers crawl up to his nape, plucking pieces from his hair, and for one insane moment, he thinks Billy's going to kiss him, but he merely smiles, flicking the confetti off the balcony over Dominic's shoulder. Of course.

Billy keeps one square bit of gold for himself, pressing it to the tip of Dominic's nose so it sticks there. "Now who's the pixie?"

Dominic gives him a playful scowl, transferring the fleck of gold to Billy's face. Billy wrinkles his nose until it falls off, disappearing between their bodies, and Dominic giggles, his hair falling into his eyes as they start moving again.

The song shifts to something more techno-ish, only slightly more danceable in Dom's opinion, but he throws his body into it, trying as best he can to tap into that seductive part of himself, the one that typically has no problem showing itself but seems utterly handicapped whenever Billy's around. Dominic slides his hands down to Billy's belt, curling the tips of his fingers over the leather but not quite tugging on it. Billy lowers his eyes, inhaling quietly, almost imperceptibly under the thumping bass, though Dominic notices, the sound like victory to his ears.

Their hips stutter and collide, Billy's denims abrading his and his neat hands cradling him by the neck just under his ears, again, the prelude to a kiss that won't come.

Dominic swallows, pulling Billy closer, making the waistband of his denims separate ever so slightly from the tuck of his shirt. "'S funny, with David. How it happened," he says, watching Billy's face suddenly go tight and expressionless. "I thought I liked being alone, you know?" he presses. "Thought it wasn't something I needed."

"Mm," Billy says, finally lifting his eyes, seemingly looking over Dominic's shoulder into the crowd below but not focusing on anyone in particular. "I've been thinking about leaving. Boston."

Dominic's heart drops into his stomach, hanging there. "What? ...When you're done with your defense?"

"I don't know," Billy exhales, his hands resting somewhat awkwardly on Dom's shoulders now. "I have another course to teach this semester, but... I was thinking of Florida. California. Someplace warm."

Dominic wants to push him away, wants to yell, wants to have a fucking tantrum, quite frankly. Billy's only talking in hypotheticals, and half-formed ones at that, Dominic knows, but the idea of it still has the power to scare the shit out of him. California, _God_ , he might as well go back to fucking Glasgow.

"I hate it here," Billy confesses, sounding pained, and Dominic knows instinctively that he's the only one who's ever heard that thought. "I've never liked it here. It's better than New York, but."

Dominic can't help but be curious again at that mysterious stretch of time Billy spent in New York, even as his inner child pleads, _Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave._ If Billy leaves, he knows what'll happen. He sees his life going back to exactly what it was before they met, he can visualize it perfectly, and it makes him sick to his stomach.

Billy opens his mouth to say something else, and Dominic shakes his head wildly, raising his voice. "I can't hear you, we'll talk later."

*

**INTERLUDE: OLD FRIENDS - MINUTES LATER**

In the middle of their third or fourth song plastered together, Billy feels a pair of hands that aren't his or Dominic's sliding between them, around Dominic's waist, big knuckles cold against his own stomach. It happens so suddenly, a blur of Dominic being yanked away, his face bursting into a bright yellow light of recognition before he's lifted high off the ground and into the arms of a man who towers over the both of them. Under the lights with his own arms now empty, Billy can see a flash of wavy grey hair and the deep wrinkles of a smile, and he averts his eyes, giving them as much privacy as he can without running away like a child.

"Never thought I'd run into you here," Dominic teases, his hands cradling the man's nape and his legs a long, coltish grip around his waist.

"Well, it wasn't my choice," the man rumbles, finally easing Dominic back down to the floor, giving him a more thorough look but with kind eyes.

Billy glances at the bar, seriously considering running now; Dominic knows a lot of people—too many, in fact—but Billy has it on good authority that this is Dom's john from the year before, the one he'd fallen for, or so he'd thought. Well-dressed, English, refined, an embarrassingly young thing trailing close behind him, looking just as petulant at this reunion as Billy probably does.

The man seems pleased with Dominic's appearance, noting physical changes that Billy can't hear and doesn't really care to, his big hands pushing Dom's hair from his forehead and cupping his cheeks. And where Dominic's been cautious with Billy, parsing out his touches like a temperamental cat, he's careless with this man, outright draping himself all over him. Billy takes particular note of how young Dominic seems next to him, and not just in comparison; his eyes have gone wide and wet, his face soft as he smiles and ducks his head bashfully.

"You're glowing tonight, cherub," the man says, and Billy blinks, certain he'd misheard the nickname if not for the color blossoming on Dom's cheeks at the sound of it.

Dominic finally brushes his hands gently away, turning to make introductions. "Billy, this is Ian, a good friend of mine. Ian, Billy."

"Pleasure," Billy says automatically, extending a hand, which Ian envelops with his own.

Ian corrals the twink lingering behind him into the center of the little circle they make, placing him there like a prop. He introduces him, too, but Billy doesn't care to remember his name and so doesn't. Neither does Dominic, he can tell, and that's somehow reassuring.

Billy takes the opportunity to give Ian a closer look. He's older than he thought he would be, but Billy can't deny that he sees his appeal, and that's all too irritating.

Dom and Ian's conversation with one another isn't noteworthy, but the soft, intimate timbre of Dominic's voice is something that snags itself on the edges of Billy's heart. It reminds him a bit of what he'd sounded like at Elijah's house, when they talked each other to sleep. Billy almost doesn't register his hands clenching and releasing in pulses at his sides. There's a searing guilt that comes with this brand of possessiveness; Dominic's not his, he never has been, not even physically. Billy'd made sure of that.

"So, how do you know our Dominic?" Ian breaks through that dangerous train of thought, managing to drop a thick, heavy silence in its place. Ian's eyes gleam knowingly.

Dominic claps his hands together. "I'll go get next round."

Billy and Ian watch as he slithers his way gracefully through the crowd to the mezzanine level bar. Billy senses Ian's companion slinking away, and he suddenly feels as if he's in the middle of a Western showdown—and with no weaponry to his name.

"Sweet, is he not?" Ian drawls, and Billy thinks the picture he makes, standing there all regal and knowing under the flashing lights, would only be completed if he'd had a pipe or a cigarette holder protruding from his mouth.

"More salty than sweet, I'd say." Billy doesn't necessarily mean it—it's just something to fill the silence.

Ian doesn't realize this, however. "You'll learn."

Billy can feel his eyes going sharp like daggers. "What does that mean?"

"I've known Dominic a long while. He softens with time." Watching the shape of Dom's back at the bar, Ian's eyes seem to soften at his own words. Then, just as quickly, they change. "Except for when he's at work, that is."

"Stop," Billy finds himself saying, totally uncharacteristic of him with someone he's met only moments before.

"Stop what, lad?" Ian's eyes rake over the tight set of his body.

Billy feels overcome at that point. He wants to say the most infantile things, clarify that he's far from a _lad_ , that he's seen sweetness in Dominic that Ian could never hope to—though he can't be sure that that's true. Even if he feels it in his heart, there's still so little that he knows about Dominic, least of all the details of his relationship with Ian, if it could be called that.

"I don't know why you're being so protective," Ian says. "He's not ashamed. You shouldn't be." He takes up his wine glass from a nearby table and takes another sip.

"I'm not—" Billy starts, his tone sharper than his eyes, but then he takes a moment to really think about what he's saying, and he's not sure that that's true, either. He can't be ashamed of the circumstances in which they met—that'd been a conscious decision on his part—but he does wish it had been... better. Not that Dominic cares about that.

Ian smiles behind his glass, unnerving him, and, knowing there's no reply he could give, Billy walks away, blindly back to the bar downstairs and into the welcome embrace of Elijah. In the name of distraction, he quickly puts another drink in Elijah's hand.

"Thanks, man. So: did you two kiss and make up, finally?" Elijah leans back into Orlando's embrace, his eyes going liquid as Orlando necks him a bit.

Before Billy has a chance to answer that, or even shoot him a look, Orlando cuts in. "I see you met Dom's granddaddy."

"He's a fucking prick," Billy says, pounding back a double shot of whiskey.

"Ooh," Orlando slips his fingertips just under the waistband of Elijah's denims, "I love it when he talks dirty, don't you?"

"Stop it, you nutjob," Elijah chides, laughing a little as he brings Orlando's hands up to safer territory. "Is everything okay?" he asks Billy. "What happened?"

Billy lifts his eyes to the upper level, watching the path Dominic makes as he brings a pair of drinks back to Ian. Dominic looks confused for a brief moment, probably inquiring after Billy, before his face takes on that breathless, youthful quality it had before. It's like watching a silent film without the intertitles, but Billy's sure he could provide them if he tried hard enough. "Nothing," he answers Elijah darkly, trying in vain not to stare plainly at the scene above.

Ian drops into a chair at a nearby table and beckons Dominic into his lap, and Dominic gladly curls up there, one hand combing through the waves of Ian's hair and snaking down to finger at the buttons of his shirt as he chats excitedly, the other still holding fast to his beer. Ian's companion is still nowhere to be found.

Billy motions for another drink.

Upstairs, Dominic braces his knees on either side of Ian's thighs, making himself at home there as his eyes rove the planes of his face. It's been so long since he's seen them. Ian reaches up to tweak his nose, and he laughs. After a long moment, Ian levels a curious look at him. "Does he know that you're in love with him?"

Dominic leans back on his haunches, forcing his eyes not to flicker down to Billy below. "David?" They'd just been talking about him—it's not an illogical jump—but Dominic still knows it's impotent trickery.

Ian tilts his head at him, giving him a stronger look this time. "No, not David."

" _Oh_ ," Dominic feigns realization. "No, I'm." His eyes betray him, falling down to a despondent-looking Billy at the bar. "'M not in _love_ with him." Though right as he says this, Billy's eyes connect with his, and he can feel his fingers instantly gentle on Ian's skin and clothes.

"Infatuated, then, at the very least."

Dominic looks back at Ian, mirroring his smirk. He supposes he'd know the signs better than anyone. "Well, it's a lost cause, so."

"Look again, cherub," Ian insists.

Dominic is suddenly overcome with just how much he's missed Ian, how happy he is that he's here, right here underneath him. He wraps a hand around his nape and pulls him in for a kiss. "I'm really happy to see you."

Ian's smile goes soft as he drags a fingertip through the kohl underneath Dominic's eye. "Come home with me, then." At Dominic's silence, he amends: "I'd get rid of Michael for the sake of a proper reunion."

Dominic blinks, vaguely remembering the tiny thing Ian had brought with him. He's tempted; it would be lovely and comfortable, and so very fulfilling to be with someone who knows him so well, at least physically. "No, 's not that." He glances down again at Billy, who's now doing his best to look like he's having a good time. "Well, not totally."

"Oh," Ian purrs, his voice thick with understanding. "Well, I admire your devotion. Even if it's only in private."

Dominic gives him a sad shrug, suddenly finding he has nothing more to say to him. He rises to his feet, halfway to drunk already, and Ian steadies him with a hand to his hip. Dominic takes that hand in both of his and presses a kiss to the knuckles. "Don't be a stranger, alright?"

"As I recall, it was you who disappeared on me."

"You knew where to find me," Dominic tosses over his shoulder, along with a smile, as he heads for the stairs, straight for Billy.

 

 


	25. Fic: Boston (35/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another movie screening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS for the film _Vivre sa vie_ ( _My Life to Live_ ), in case anyone was planning on seeing it.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Another day, another movie screening.  
 **Note:** SPOILERS for the film _Vivre sa vie_ ( _My Life to Live_ ), in case anyone was planning on seeing it.  


**SCENE 35. - INT. HARVARD FILM ARCHIVE - EVENING**

Dominic's grateful that he's been here before; strolling briskly up the walkway, he recalls with sharp clarity just how lost he'd gotten with Orli the night of Billy's lecture. Harvard's campus is nonsensical to anyone who doesn't go to Harvard, Dominic's certain, and it doesn't help that the HFA can only be accessed by a sunken entryway mostly blocked by tall bushes.

He throws his weight against one of the heavy glass doors to open it and takes a deep breath as it closes behind him, pulling his hands from deep within his pockets. He's managed to switch to a proper coat, but he still hasn't taken Billy's advice about a pair of gloves.

The lobby's desolate—it's still just over half an hour until showtime—but Dominic knows Billy's already here, not only for the fact that Billy _said_ he'd be here, but for the way his stomach had tumbled as he walked in. He isn't anywhere near anxious, though, not like he'd been the night of Elijah's birthday, and not like Billy had been, either. He thinks of the way Billy's body relaxed against his as they danced, the joy in his voice and the relief in his eyes as they drank and joked the rest of the night away.

A few days later, it's almost as if all those weeks of silence never happened. Dominic can't help but smile in anticipation as he turns a corner and happens upon a door with a plaque on it reading "PROJECTION BOOTH." He takes a breath, knocks, and, hearing nothing, turns the knob, blinking at the tall, narrow metal staircase that seems to have been plunked down right in front of him. The door swings shut behind him, echoing loudly.

"Dom?!" he hears from above, a sweet, utterly recognizable voice, and Christ, there goes his stomach again.

"Hey!" he shouts back, much less lilting. "Shall I—?"

"Come on up!" Billy preempts him, and Dominic follows, ascending steadily until he arrives in a room much larger than he expected. Billy stands at a daunting projector, fiddling with a reel of celluloid, looping it through the feeder. He raises his eyes and smiles. "Hello there."

"Hi." Dominic takes in the room, the tiny window facing out over the grand auditorium, the two chairs Billy's already set out for them.

"Make yourself at home," Billy insists, squinting at the film. "I practically sleep here myself, anyway." Dominic drapes his coat over the back of one of the chairs. "Nice coat," Billy says pointedly, shooting a triumphant little smirk at him, to which Dominic glares playfully.

Dominic sits sideways on the chair, staring shamelessly at Billy's hands as they work. "What are we watching, then?"

Billy's face colors a bit, a little tremor thrown into his throat. "I picked the most fantastic night for you to come here," he says sarcastically. "We're watching _My Life to Live_ by Jean-Luc Godard."

"That means nothing to me," Dominic deadpans, meaning every word. Billy laughs, but he still seems nervous. "What's it about?"

"It's from the sixties." Billy takes a long pause as he finally loops the first reel in correctly, then picks up the second. "It's about an aspiring actress who... becomes a prostitute and, ehm..." He doesn't finish, but Dominic knows what the other half of that sentence is.

"Fantastic. What's on for next week? _Midnight Cowboy_?"

Billy shakes his head, his face going a shade darker. "Fuck off, I didn't know, I promise. It's a beautiful film, though. You'll like it. I hope," he adds under his breath.

A mostly comfortable silence stretches between them. Dominic inhales and opens his mouth a few times but never makes an actual utterance happen. He often finds himself in this position with Billy, having too much to say, things he doesn't really feel compelled to tell anyone else, but too paralyzed to say anything at all. He's still not sure what exactly it is about Billy that gives him that impulse, especially considering just how intimidated he is by his mind.

Billy glances up from the projector as if he can hear Dominic's fears being voiced loud and clear in the tiny room, and gives him a reassuring smile. Dominic quickly looks down into the theater below, watching the audience start to file in. He drums the tips of his fingers together. "So have you made much progress on your defense? Preparing, I mean."

"Yeah," Billy rumbles. "'M finding new ways to avoid it every day," he laughs, though it sounds slightly distracted.

Dominic nods, looking down at his hands as they fidget; he certainly knows something about that. Down below, a few teenagers—undergrads, most likely—walk into the theater in that not-yet-fully-formed way they have about them. One turns on his heels awkwardly, craning his neck to look up at the projection booth, looking confused at the sight of Dominic's face. Dominic moves out of his line of vision instinctively. "I think one of your students is looking for you," he tosses over his shoulder.

Billy immediately abandons what he's doing in favor of rushing over to the window to smile and wave and make mock-stern gestures at them to get them to sit. All four students watch him now, and they laugh, a giddiness passing over their faces as if they've just been acknowledged by a celebrity.

" _Professor Boyd_ ," Dominic teases.

"Yeah," Billy laughs. "Little do they know, eh?" He walks back to the projector, quickly arranging the final reels, leaving Dominic to wonder just what he means by that—and not wonder. Billy strides across the room and lowers the light switch fader on the wall until there's just enough illumination to make out the shapes of the equipment. He also has a tiny desk lamp just behind the projector, if he needs it, Dominic notices. He looks at home here.

"So how much time _do_ you spend here, then?"

"Eh," Billy begins, doing his final adjustments to make sure everything's in order. "I do about three, four films a week. When class wasn't in session, five or six."

Dominic thinks of Billy holed up in here alone in the dark, all those weeks they didn't speak, and there's something romantic about it to him, especially since he thinks Billy's the kind of person anyone would want to be around.

"Other than this and my classes, I've been in hibernation, really. 'S alright. I've got my fat to keep me warm." He pats his stomach lovingly.

Dominic giggles. "Sausage, mushroom, and cheese omelets?" He remembers Billy's order from the diner in Northampton.

"Yes, but no breakfast is as good as your breakfast." Billy's voice is a soft purr, and in the dark, terribly intimate.

As Billy makes his way to the empty chair, Dominic realizes that they'll have to be practically on top of each other for the duration of the film, if they both want to still be able to see, and terribly intimate turns into terribly distracting. Billy straddles his chair, scooting it back in little scrapes, making more room for Dominic. "I don't want to be in your way," Dominic protests.

"Tch, I can do this in my sleep. Besides, I'm more interested in watching you watch it," he says honestly. There's not an ounce of flirtation in his voice, he's made sure of that, but it still makes Dominic shiver a bit. Without the pleasant buzz of alcohol, every quiet moment throbs with possibility, reminding Dominic of all the risks he isn't taking.

The lights in the theater down below dim halfway, pausing for a moment as the curtains part and the audience settles, and then go out, leaving the screen illuminated with an advertisement for the Harvard Film Archive's next series.

"No specs tonight?" The question comes from just to the left of Dominic and slightly behind him, vibrating through him.

"No, got my contacts." He fights the urge to turn to Billy as he says this.

"Just checking." There's a mischievous smile in Billy's voice.

The screen fades to black for the opening credits, and the thick, dark silence only makes Dominic more aware of how close and how alone they are up here. He thinks randomly of how the lights were on, both times that they were together. His chair creaks as he crosses his legs, but there's no noise from Billy; it's as if he's holding his breath. Dominic can see Billy's elbows in his periphery, the pale meat of his arms catching the light from the screen, his arms crossed over the back of his chair.

A sad tune fills the theater, the volume not quite as powerful in the projection booth but the melody instantly heartbreaking. The image comes up on the face of an incredibly beautiful, sad-looking woman ( _She was the director's wife_ , Billy points out), the music swelling and then disappearing completely as still shots of her face are shown at different angles, in black-and-white, which Dominic loves and prefers—without being a fucking snob about it.

The film itself isn't exactly in Dominic's taste, though the photography is beautiful and he finds himself being drawn in by Anna Karina, the lead actress, even though her circumstances are more than a little too close. He glances back momentarily to find Billy mesmerized, the long tendon in his neck catching the light from the screen as he tilts his head lovingly at the images.

The dialogue is thoughtful and clever, if slightly pretentious, and Dominic is able to enjoy it in a detached way until Karina sits in a cafe with her friend and starts talking about the dubious control she has over her own life. _Je suis responsable_ , she repeats over and over again. _I forget that I'm responsible, but I am_ , the subtitles read. Dominic thinks of some of the choices and changes he's made recently, how his own day-to-day life has transformed with a simple yes or no. He often forgets that he's the one who made it all happen, he alone, well, for the most part.

Dominic shifts in his chair, hoping to pull Billy's attention. "I, um. I submitted one of my photos for a contest," he starts quietly.

There is a heavy silence from Billy before he reaches forward and lands a resounding backhanded smack against Dominic's shoulder. "That's fucking fantastic," he hisses. "What's it for?"

"All the Y's are doing it, all the photo classes, I mean," he explains with a dismissive wave of his hand. "They choose five to be showcased at the MFA, sort of like finalists, I guess, and then the winner gets five thousand dollars or something crazy like that—but two of the other finalists get to take a photo class at the Harvard Extension for free."

"That's incredible," Billy says with awe as he scoots forward, the film forgotten for the moment. "When do you find out if...?"

"I've already—I'm," Dominic shrugs his shoulders, smiling sheepishly, "I was selected."

Billy hits him again, much harder this time, and Dominic protests even as he laughs, clutching his bruised shoulder. "Why the fuck did y'not tell me until now?" Billy can just barely contain the volume of his voice. "That's great, congratulations. When are they showing?"

"Thanks," Dominic smiles, "next weekend."

"Are you excited? So few people have seen your work."

Dominic turns sideways in his chair so they're finally facing each other. He can literally feel his blood buzzing like electricity through his veins. Even Orlando hadn't given him such a reply when he'd told him the day before. "I'm pretty terrified, actually," he admits. "It's all a bit too real, yeah?"

"Yeah, but that's what's great about it," Billy offers with a gentle thoughtfulness, his eyes gone a soft green as he rests his chin on his forearm.

"I could use some moral support," Dominic mumbles, eyes in his lap as he fiddles with one of his rings.

Understanding slowly washes over Billy's face. He smiles. "Is, ehm, is David not going with you?"

Dominic scrunches his nose and shakes his head. "Nah. I've never even shown him anything I've done." He lifts his eyes again, finding the look in Billy's more than a little disarming.

"I'd love to go."

They both inhale deeply in tandem as they turn their attention back to the screen. It gets a bit awkward during the scenes where the lead meets with johns, the camera focusing on the dead look in her eyes as she lies naked on her stomach. Billy goes completely quiet, holding his breath. Dominic reaches back with his foot and nudges his calf, a silent insistence that he's not sensitive about it, though that's not entirely true, and that loosens Billy up some, Dominic can hear the change in his body.

Another lengthy conversation scene begins—the French were really into that in the sixties, Dominic is quickly learning—and that impulse starts again, low in his stomach. He wants to ask Billy something, anything, preferably something that'll excite Billy so he'll fill Dominic's ears with that lovely rich voice, the perfect soundtrack to the beautiful images in front of his eyes. He finds himself saying, "Did you have fun at Elijah's the other night?" As he says it, he recalls Orli's hangover-drawled words the morning after: _Billy doesn't think much of Ian._ Dominic had been sure to tuck that away in the same place he kept most of his memories from the night he and Billy met and the night Billy came back.

"Yeah," Billy laughs, "had too much fun." He rises from his chair and walks over to the projector, poised to ensure the reel change goes smoothly. Dominic twists, watching him. "I haven't had that much to drink since I started school." He shoots Dominic a playful look. "I didn't say or do anything too incriminating, did I?"

"No. Well, if you consider offering to blow the bartender in front of everyone incriminating."

Billy sticks his tongue out at him from between his teeth, not taking the bait. "'M glad you've come around to Lij," he says thoughtfully. "I know he's a bit much sometimes, but he's a great person."

"Mm," Dominic agrees, distracted. "Speaking of, how did you like Ian?" He watches Billy carefully.

Billy sighs and twists up his mouth, pretending to consider the question. "I didn't, to be honest." He sounds a bit bashful for it, but he clearly has no intention of apologizing.

More than anything, Dominic wants to ask why; in fact, he'd like Billy to write a dissertation about _that_ , a five-hundred page treatise on precisely why he didn't like Ian in the five minutes he spent in his company. He'd devour it in one sitting. But then, he supposes it can also just as easily be summed up in one sentence: no one's too keen on older men who go around with pretty young boys (or girls, for that matter).

"Eh, he's harmless," Dominic shrugs, Billy's face unchanging. "I know he doesn't seem that way, but."

"Yeah, you seemed awfully cozy," Billy says under his breath, but there's no bitterness in his tone, it's just as carefully blank as before. Dominic doesn't care what he sounds like, though—the fact that he was paying attention the other night is all he needs.

He watches with fascination as Billy completes the reel change, most of the audience down below completely oblivious to the transition. He waits until Billy's taken his seat again, fiddling with his rings as he speaks. "I hadn't seen him in nearly two years, I think. It was nice. I felt like enough time had passed to sort of sort out all of those leftover feelings. Like, there was this understanding that we'd said goodbye to that part of our relationship, that we were both different, me especially, I guess."

"...He didn't try to get you to come home with him?"

That question gives Dominic's heart a start. He continues looking down at his hands. "He did," he admits quietly. "But I said no... obviously." Dominic suddenly gets the feeling of being interrogated by a jealous lover, and that's more than a little irritating considering how far he and Billy are from that, especially now. He's under no obligation to be reassuring Billy in any way, but that's just what he finds himself doing. "It was a nice goodbye. For a long time, Ian was this... ghost, haunting me everywhere I went. And finally seeing him sort of took the sting away. Like, after not seeing him for so long, he became this emblem of, I don't know, rejection or something, he had all this power over me. But seeing him was a good reminder that he's just a person, you know? He's got his own ghosts, I'm sure."

"We all do," Billy says without hesitation. Dominic turns to look at him, getting a tight, distracted smile.

They don't talk much after that. Eventually Nana, the main character of the film, finds love with a passionate young man, and it becomes clear that she intends to stop prostituting. But in the film's final scene, she becomes the victim of a botched deal between her pimp and a couple of gangsters, which ends with her being shot and left to die in the middle of a Paris street. The camera tips abruptly down to capture her limp body on the asphalt before the screen fades to black, the word "FIN" appearing just as abruptly.

There is complete silence from the audience below as the lights come up, many of them having obviously seen the film before. Those who haven't look as if they've been slapped in the face, making nervous chatter with their friends to break the uncomfortable quiet.

Dominic imagines what should happen now in his mind. He sees himself turning to Billy full of cheek— _Are all of your favorite films like this?_ —Billy giving another sheepish apology before they laugh it off and decide to go get a coffee (or not-coffee for Dominic). But Dominic's not quite ready to come back to the real world yet, and Billy's not ready to face him either, opting instead to rise from his chair and start getting everything in order. Dominic quietly assists as much as he can, trying to not think about the film and thinking about it too much.

  


 

  



	26. Fic: Boston (36/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominic and Billy attend the photo exhibition at the MFA.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Dominic and Billy attend the photo exhibition at the MFA.  


**SCENE 36. - INT. BILLY'S FLAT - THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY 7:13PM**

It takes Billy four tries before he settles on what he's wearing, and an extra few minutes in front of the mirror to fully convince himself that it was the right decision. He doesn't want to consider the amount of time he's spent trying to convince himself that he feels nothing for Dominic.

The circumstances of tonight make that last part nearly impossible. They've spent an awful lot of time together but always under the auspices of simply accompanying each other to more everyday outings (or in-ings): Billy's screenings, nights at home, even Lij's for the holidays. But this exhibition is an event, its obvious importance to Dominic giving it even more weight than that. Billy assumes Orlando'll be there too, but David won't, and that's enough to have sent a fizz through his blood, making him reconsider his shirt, again.

Billy looks academic but casual in an outfit he's often worn to class: dark, fitted denims, a coral button-down, and a tan jacket. He allows himself a final once-over before pulling on his peacoat and grabbing his wallet and keys. Erin meows pitifully at him on his way out the door. "I fed you," he says firmly, giving her a scritch, and leaves, tossing "Be good" over his shoulder.

 

About a half hour later, he steps off the T at the MFA stop, his muscles already braced for the cold, his peacoat never providing enough protection in February. Still, the museum is beautiful at night, all lit up and calm, regular hours having ended much earlier and the doors closed to patrons.

Billy expects to find Dominic and Orlando in the lobby but finds neither, though there is a sign with information about the exhibition and a helpful security guard who points him in the right direction. He makes his way up two grand, daunting flights of steps to the Linde Family Wing, reassured by the increasing number of people milling about. There is a sort of foyer outside the exhibition hall with tables of hors d'oeuvres and a few groups of crisp, sterile-looking people drinking wine and chatting in tones Billy's become accustomed to hearing at some of his more dreaded academic events. He scans the crowd nervously for signs of real life and, finding none, pulls his phone out from his coat pocket, finding none there either.

He moves slowly through the sporadic bunches of people in search of a pamphlet or program, slightly overwhelmed at how much bigger this is than he thought it would be. He can't even imagine how Dominic's going to feel. At least a little proud, he hopes.

Billy takes his time procuring a glass of red, mostly for something to do while he awkwardly waits for someone he knows to walk through the entryway. He has no intention of mingling in the meantime. A line of paintings on the other side of the room catches his eye, and he meanders back in the direction he came from to get a closer look.

They're abstract, collections of colorful geometric shapes in an asymmetrical pattern. It's obvious that they're part of the permanent collection; they have a settled-in look about them that Billy finds comforting. As much as his life and his passion involves studying images, though, there's something about this kind of art that Billy still can't understand. He takes a sip of his wine and steps closer, nearly spilling on himself at the sound of someone hissing to his right: " _Psst._ "

He turns abruptly, the breath rushing out of him at the sight of Dominic standing in an adjacent corridor, smiling sheepishly, his hands shoved into the pants pockets of a charcoal grey suit. The metallic navy of his tie makes his eyes shine even under the dull gallery lighting. There's something about his hair, too—perhaps he's cut it. The shag that Billy's so accustomed to seeing hanging perilously close to those eyes is now maybe just touching his dark brows. "Hi," Billy says belatedly, his own eyes betraying him, taking in Dominic with more attention than he'd paid the paintings. " _Fuck_ ," he breathes, immediately clamping a hand over his mouth at the echo it creates in the hall, a few of the other guests turning to stare.

Dominic barks a laugh, earning them more attention, silencing himself as he approaches, magnifying the effect tenfold.

"Wow. You..." Billy suddenly feels as if his hands are too full. He wants to touch Dominic's lapels, test the give in the knot of his tie.

"I haven't worn it in a while." Dominic's hands flail in front of him. "Doesn't fit too well anymore." He tugs at the bottom of the jacket.

"No, it looks really... really good." Billy shakes his head at himself. "Sorry. I'm a bit overwhelmed right now, to tell you the truth. And under-dressed, apparently."

"D'you think I'm overdressed?" Dominic steps close, presenting himself in a silent plea for guidance. "I should get rid of this, yeah?" He indicates his tie.

"No, don't," Billy says, fully prepared to brook no objection. Dominic seems to be holding his breath. "You look fucking incredible, alright?"

Dominic smiles wide, ducking his head. He raises his eyes to Billy again. "Can I have some of that?" He reaches for Billy's wine, which Billy gladly surrenders, and drinks a healthy swallow. "Thanks."

"Where's Orlando?"

A look of regret washes over Dominic's face. "He's, uh, he's a little weird about all this."

Billy nods, his lips drawn in tight. "'M sorry."

"'S alright, I don't blame him. His problem's with himself, not with me."

Billy makes a note to himself to check in with Elijah; he hasn't really spoken with him since his birthday. He makes a show of flipping open the program for the exhibition. "You know, your name is in here," he teases.

"I know," Dominic exhales heavily, his nerves apparent. He's still holding onto Billy's wine.

"Don't be nervous," Billy says gently. "If it makes you feel better, I can pretend to be you, and you'll be off the hook for the night."

"I'd love to see what that looks like," Dominic says into the glass before nearly finishing it off, the stain it leaves on his lips drawing Billy's eye.

"Well. It'll be difficult. I'm not nearly as attractive, especially not tonight." _You're fucking mad_ , Dominic starts, but Billy cuts him off. "But I think if I try really hard, I can pull off that odd combination of shy modesty and inhuman confidence."

Dominic shakes his head, his eyes two live blue flames, and Billy suddenly recalls that look he'd given him across the dinner table at Lij's mother's house. Billy steals the final sip of wine, proud for having helped Dominic momentarily forget the situation at hand, when a commotion back by the hors d'oeuvres draws his attention. The proverbial doors to the exhibition have opened, and people have started leaving their tiny plates of food behind to move on into the gallery.

Billy gives him a reassuring smile as they make their way across the room, hanging several yards behind the throng that's gathered and is busy making its way through to the exhibition. "D'you know anyone here?" he whispers, their arms brushing as they walk side by side.

"Hmm..." Dominic pretends to perform a cursory scan of the crowd. "No."

Billy gives a quiet laugh, somehow resisting the urge to run wildly through the gallery in search of Dominic's photos. Instead they politely start at the front, Dominic taking his time with work by one of the featured artists, who seems to have a penchant for shooting children in the Caribbean. Her photos are vibrant with color and character, not unlike Dom's. Billy wants to at least pretend he's interested, but his eyes wander. He's happy to discover that the section of student finalists is in a tiny alcove of its own just off the end of the row they're viewing.

Dominic's slightly distracted, too, clearly keeping one ear on the comments of passersby, though he seems to almost not want to get to his own photos.

"Do they announce the winners tonight?" Billy leans in to ask.

"No, they keep our photos up for the next week and then decide." Dominic straightens the lapels of his jacket as if his hands are simply looking for something to do. Billy remembers how Dominic had taken his hand in that church in Northampton and suddenly wants to provide a similar comfort for him now.

They've barely finished the row when Billy clears his throat loudly and takes three big strides over to the student work, finding Dominic's in center. Dominic follows a moment later, his hands shoved deep within his pockets. He lingers behind as Billy looks over his series, mostly photos Billy's seen before but never beyond the tiny viewscreen of Dominic's camera. "Took forever color-correcting that one," he indicates a photo of a flock of birds gathered around a dead bird in the middle of a busy downtown sidewalk.

Billy turns, wrapping an arm around Dominic's middle to pull him beside him. "These are fantastic," he whispers fiercely, and at that Dominic visibly exhales, a smile playing at his wine-tinged lips. Billy suddenly wishes for a camera for himself.

A couple next to them turns to Billy. "Are you the photographer?" the woman asks.

"No," Billy says firmly, stepping aside and nearly shoving Dominic at her.

"Hi." Dominic offers his hand, regaining some of that charm Billy hasn't really seen in a while. "Dominic."

"These are really extraordinary," the woman says, as if she's imparting some great knowledge to him, her husband nodding in agreement behind her. "It's as if I'm looking at people, not animals."

"Thank you," Dominic says, patiently humoring her. "Thank you very much."

"What do you do, Dominic?" The man's voice booms from behind her.

"Um..." Dominic smiles coyly, and Billy follows suit. "Nothing at the moment."

"I'm his benefactor," Billy chimes in, Dominic nearly losing it but managing to nod seriously in confirmation.

" _Ah_ ," the woman nods. "Well congratulations, to the both of you."

They both thank her, holding their breath (and their laughter) until the couple's moved on to another part of the exhibition. Dominic turns to him, incredulous. " _Benefactor?_ "

"No good?"

Dominic gives him a playful glare and turns back to the student work, venturing away from his own photos, though that's where Billy stays, to his heart's content. By the time they've moved on to some of the other featured artists, Dominic is downright chatty, offering his opinions on nearly every photo, much to Billy's delight. Though Billy knows the process in an academic way, he's never had the hands-on experience to fully understand the thought and work that goes into each and every photo, so he relishes Dominic's perspective. He's also never seen Dominic talk so openly about it, his face lighting up with it.

That light diminishes considerably when they come across a series entitled _Streetwalkers_ , a photographer's "portrayal of the hidden workers of Beantown." Billy's first impulse is to drag Dominic far away from it, but he also doesn't want to treat him like a child. Dominic steels himself, moving across the row of photos of prostitutes both male and female, expressionless. If Dominic recognizes any of them, he certainly doesn't show any signs of it.

Billy silently chides himself for having thought even for a brief moment that they could both avoid how this all started, how they came together. It was beyond naive, and he should have known better. He vows to hate this fucking photographer for the rest of his life, for having thrown a spike into what has otherwise been a beautiful, special night, a milestone for Dominic.

His thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice that turns out to belong to the same woman who'd approached Dominic about his own photos earlier. She and her husband stand just behind them, peering over their shoulders at the same photo Dominic is busy examining and Billy is very busy ignoring.

"It's just so devastating, the conditions some people live under." Her husband _mm_ s in agreement. Billy takes a step forward so he and Dominic are hip to hip, wanting to show his solidarity.

"Speaking of the thin line between nature and human nature," the husband remarks, clearly proud of himself.

Before Billy can turn to give a few remarks of his own, Dominic mumbles, "I have to—" and makes a beeline for the gallery's entrance with quick, long strides just short of a run. The couple stares past Billy at the photo, not even noticing his glare.

He pushes between them unnecessarily. "Excuse me." When Billy exits, he finds the foyer completely empty, save for a lone security guard and some leftover plates of cheese, crackers, and fruit. He takes a few steps, considering the loo, then remembers that there isn't one on this floor. He hears the squeak of a shoe against hardwood floor, coming from the sequestered little corridor where he'd originally found Dominic. He grimaces, heading slowly toward it. "Dom?" Dominic doesn't answer, but Billy can hear the air shift around him.

*

**CLOSE-UP ON DOMINIC**

When Billy turns the corner, Dominic looks up at him from the floor where he sits propped against the wall with his legs pulled in. He waves his hand nonchalantly. "'S alright." Dominic folds his hands over his kneecaps, feeling the material of his trousers between his fingers. "What the fuck am I doing here?" he asks Billy sincerely. "I don't belong here."

Billy shrugs, trying to lighten the mood. "Neither do I."

Dominic doesn't smile. Billy drops to the floor, too, mirroring his position against the opposite wall. "Remember what you said at Elijah's house? His mum's house?" he asks Billy. "How you feel like you're in disguise sometimes?" Billy nods, watching him carefully. "It's fucking exhausting, lying all the time."

Billy wants to say _I know_ , but he doesn't, really, not the way that Dominic does.

"I'm a horrible person, Billy. I know you don't think so, but it's just a fact. I'm a sinner, by definition. If I told you some of the things I've done…" Dominic leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, his mouth running almost as if it is out of his control. "I've helped people cheat on their wives and their husbands and fulfill fantasies that they hate themselves for." He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. "That's who I am."

"You've also provided comfort to people who've really needed it." Billy stares, unblinking, at him, silently willing him to open his eyes. When he does, two tears roll down his face, disappearing into the collar of his dress shirt. Billy immediately scoots closer, wrapping a hand around his ankle, right underneath the hem of his trousers where his sock ends. "They came to you because they were alone. You gave them a place where they could feel like themselves."

"You're glorifying it because you know me now. Think of your first impression of me—what did you think when you first saw me standing on that corner?" Dominic finally looks up from his lap but he doesn't wait for Billy's reply—Billy isn't sure he would have had one anyway, at least not one that would be appropriate. "Don't you understand? I'm fucking dirt. I'm nothing."

At that, Billy shifts, trying to get as close to him as he possibly can without jumping right into his skin. "Shh. I'm not glorifying what you did for me." He lowers his voice to a near whisper, choosing his words carefully, knowing well just how much is riding on them. "The night we met… do you know how numb I was, how dead I was inside before that night? Yeah, I had my work, and I loved it. I still love it, but it's not all of me." He steels himself for the next bit, the bit that brings back memories he's not ready to deal with. "I didn't let anyone touch me for three years. I just let that part of myself go. That part of me that could give myself to someone else—I cut it out. I couldn't sleep at night just thinking and thinking that I'd never get it back, that I wasn't meant for it anymore." He pushes his fingers through the hair at the side of Dominic's head, where it's still nice and thick, unable to help himself. "You made me feel like I could be worth all that again. And even if it was an act, I'll never forget it." Dominic moves to say something, but Billy stops him with a firm hand on the nape of his neck. "You're not _spoiled_ or something. I won't let you go on thinking that. Look at what you did," Billy hisses with excitement, jerking his head in the direction of the exhibition. "Those people in there are here to see what you did. Yes, they're pretentious fucking assholes, I know, but…for what it's worth, _I'm_ proud of you." Dominic smiles a little, going utterly still as Billy wipes at another stubborn tear. "Nobody's any one thing. We all have our roles that we play."

If nothing else, this seems to penetrate Dominic, his expression suddenly relaxing. They look at each other, both erupting in anxious laughter. "There," Billy says. "Have I talked enough for one night?"

Dominic nods, apparently happy to stay right there under the comfort of Billy's touch. "Such a fucking idiot," he chides himself.

"Shh, no more of that," Billy declares, weaseling Dominic's handkerchief from his breast pocket. He fluffs it out and uses it to wipe any lingering dampness from Dominic's face. Dominic's eyes are a bright, sweet blue, darting from Billy's eyes to his lap to the floor and back again. His words from their first night together echo in Billy's head like a stern reminder: _No kissing on the mouth._

Billy glances over his own shoulder, back in the direction of the exhibition, and offers Dominic a tentative smile. "Ready to go back?"

Dominic exhales heavily and nods. Billy stands and extends a hand down to him, which Dominic accepts, allowing him to pull him to his feet. He leads him back across the foyer with a gentle hand on the small of his back. "Let's go punch that couple in the face," he offers brightly, making Dominic burst into surprised laughter just before they reenter the gallery.

 


	27. Fic: Boston (37-38/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys celebrate Billy completing his dissertation defense.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** The boys celebrate Billy completing his dissertation defense.  


**SCENE 37. - EXT. WASHINGTON STREET - EVENING**

The brutal wind is a welcome pressure against Dominic’s cheeks as he makes his way from the T down to this out-of-the-way pub in Brighton (Elijah’s choice, not his, or anyone else’s, for that matter). His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his coat, but his face doesn’t turn from the cold, the start of a smile tugging at his lips. A short woman in a thick wool coat, scarf, and pink hat, holding her young son’s hand, grimaces at him as she passes, as if to say _How the fuck can you find it in your heart to feel anything but bitter this time of year?_ —which only makes Dominic’s smile go from half-formed to full-on.

The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind, from the exhibition to Billy’s little pep talk to finding out he’d won one of the bloody prizes—not first, of course, that’d gone to some rich prick who already had enough money to build his own darkroom—but a chance to study celluloid for the first time at Harvard, fucking _Harvard_. He’d wasted no time getting his ID so he could get right into the darkroom and start poking around there.

To Dominic’s surprise, he’s found that being a student suits him, countless hours already lost learning the best methods for developing, burning, and dodging, not emerging until long after the light of the outside world matched that of the inside. He’d rush off campus to catch the last T, tiny rectangles of light dotting the quad along the way, actual matriculated students busy studying physics or whatever into the night.

Dominic does his best to ignore the persistent itch at one of his wrists. He suspects he’s allergic to the darkroom chemicals, as he is with most things; he’s been breaking out in hives, but he hasn’t even considered the question of whether or not it’s worth it, to the point where the little red bumps on his thighs have spread and been scratched into oblivion.

His steps along the sidewalk come faster, the thought that Billy will be where he’s headed propelling him. With any luck, he’ll have passed his defense with flying colors and be in good spirits.

Dominic had always assumed that he didn’t mean much to Billy, that Billy was his own separate world, his own fucking universe, really. Billy has a life and a proper career and passions that he lives every day—what room does he have to even consider the things that Dom’s done or the time they’ve shared together? To think it’s remotely possible that he’s had just as much of an impact on Billy as Billy’s had on him is just staggering. It’s left him feeling almost drugged, invincible.

He can only hope some of that rubbed off on Billy in time for this afternoon.

*

**SCENE 38. - INT. THE GREEN BRIAR PUB - MINUTES LATER**

Oddly enough, Dominic feels less at ease without Billy there yet; things with Orlando have become so strained that their flat has fallen all but silent over the last week or so, the two of them tiptoeing awkwardly around each other like strangers. Tonight, Elijah makes more of an effort to talk to Dominic than Orlando does, congratulating him on the photo contest and asking if he’ll be treating them all tonight. It hurts Dominic more than he would have expected when Orlando fixes his gaze on the rather uneventful football game playing on the TV behind the bar, his expression stoic. Dominic doesn’t try to hide the face he makes in response.

Eventually, Elijah glances at his watch, slamming his first empty beer glass of the night on the table. “How fucking long do these things take? I thought Billy said it started at four.”

This finally pulls Orlando’s attention back to the table. He nudges Elijah playfully. “You’re like a nervous mum.”

“I am,” Elijah agrees without shame, pulling at his own hair. “His advisor’s a total dick. I hope he’s not giving him a hard time.”

Dominic and Orlando make noncommittal sounds of agreement, Dominic distracted by the little fireball that ignites in his stomach at the thought of Billy arriving any moment now, Orlando likely just not all that interested (or pretending to not be). Dominic suddenly notices that Orlando and Elijah aren’t sharing the same chair or each other’s oxygen tonight, and he suspects that they’re not quite peachy with each other right now, either. It relieves him somewhat.

After ordering a beer, Dominic busies himself with the menu. He’s contemplating curry chips when Billy finally walks through the door, inspiring him to whip around full-body in his half-empty side of the booth and his companions to applaud. Dominic merely smiles at him in quiet anticipation, taking in his unusually relaxed stride and feeling that fireball flicker as Billy finds them—finds _him_ —with his eyes and smiles wide and gorgeous right back. He gives a thumbs-up just to reassure them, though he’s made it clear before that the defense is really just protocol.

Billy is nearly fully seated before he breaks eye contact with Dominic to acknowledge the others. With how busy he’s been preparing for this afternoon, it’s their first time seeing each other since the exhibition; it’s different, they’re both different, he can feel it, and he knows instinctively that Dominic can too.

“Congratulations!” Elijah nearly bruises his arm in his enthusiasm, Billy grimacing before looking pleasantly surprised at the lovely glass of whiskey that’s immediately set down right in front of his nose.

“Thanks,” Billy exhales, taking in Dominic’s smiling eyes a second time as he settles into the booth beside him and wraps his hands around the glass. “Hello,” he says quietly, privately to him, and Dominic repeats the greeting with a little laugh.

Elijah quickly drags Billy’s attention away, reminding him that they’re not alone. “How was Sherlock? Was he a total dick?”

“Ehm, no,” Billy says, realizing just how surprisingly subdued his advisor had been all throughout, mostly letting his fellow panelists interrogate Billy while scribbling grumpily onto a legal pad. He supposes the defense itself was a bitter sort of defeat for him, the vindictive prick. “He was fine. It was good,” he says simply, taking a sip of whiskey and growling as it trickles its way down his throat. “What is this? It’s good.” He doesn’t wait for Elijah’s answer before turning back to Dominic. “How’s your weekend going?”

“I spent some time in a dark room with you earlier today.” Dominic recalls the photos from Christmas he’d worked on that afternoon, after investing a good chunk of his savings into transferring them from digital to celluloid.

“Ooh. I like the sound of that.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Elijah laughs. “The last two years or more have been building up to this afternoon, and you’re acting like you just got back from vacation.”

Billy shrugs and gives no explanation, just to piss him off. Countless times over the past four and a half years, Billy has thought that there must be another, happier version of himself out there in the world somewhere. To suddenly be the happy one himself is almost too much. He's reluctant to question or even explain it.

“Well congratulations anyway, asshole,” Elijah says, still disappointed as he raises his glass and the others follow suit. “May you be less cranky from now on.”

Billy laughs. “Cheers to that.” They all take another drink.

Dominic shoves over so their legs are all lined up underneath the table. “D’you want to split some curry chips?”

“Yes.” Billy stretches his arm along the back of the booth, though he doesn’t quite have to peer over Dominic’s shoulder for a look at the menu, with how close they’re sitting. “And sliders. Beef or pulled pork?”

“They’re both good here.” Dominic tilts his head up at the ceiling, feigning intense contemplation. “You can get beef sliders anywhere.” He returns to Billy, nodding in firm decision. “Pulled pork.”

“Let’s get one of each, ’m fucking famished. Been here before, then?”

Orlando finally chimes in. “He used to work here.”

Dominic looks bashfully down at his glass, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Really?” Billy asks.

“For about a week.” Dominic sighs dramatically, pushing his glass around. “Back when I was young and innocent.”

“You’re still young,” Elijah offers. Dominic sticks his tongue out at him.

“ _Interesting_.” Billy props his chin on his hand and peers at Dominic. “Dare I ask why you were here just a week?”

Dominic turns, leaning back into the corner of the booth and crossing one leg loosely over the other. “You might say I was involved in an altercation with a customer.” Billy mouths _Ooh_ , intrigued.

“You might say he got tossed on his arse for being a little prick,” Orlando accuses, and it sounds almost congenial.

“I was a prince. A man insulted me and I was merely defending my honor,” Dominic explains primly, prompting derisive laughter from Orlando. There’s no hesitation in the angry finger he points at him from across the table. “Shut it, you.”

“Well, you’ll have to let us know if he comes in. I’m feeling confident tonight.” Billy winks and cracks his knuckles, making Dominic shift visibly in his seat.

Elijah wriggles uncomfortably too, but for a different reason. “Speak for yourself. I’m not a fighter. I’m too delicate.” He gives a preemptive wince, as if he can already see an over-sized muscly fist headed straight for his nose.

“Two-dimensional, more like.” Orlando gives a quick look around before pinching his side underneath the table. “You should order something.”

“Who’s the mom now? _God._ ” Elijah obediently takes up Dominic’s menu and starts looking over his options.

Dominic wraps a long-fingered hand around Billy’s bicep, testing the muscle there. Billy turns slightly, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re going to fight for me, I have to see what you’re packing.” Not that Dominic doesn’t remember Billy’s strength from those early nights together, especially in his arms. The way he’d handled him onto the floor of his own bedroom with no pretense and less effort isn’t something Dominic’s liable to forget. He brings his other hand up to join the first, for memory’s sake.

Billy’s arms are frozen where they had been lifting his precious drink to his mouth, before Dominic had taken it upon himself to grope him in public, elbow resting on the table so the meat of his forearm sandwiches Dom’s fingers from the other side. He makes his bicep jump, and Dominic jumps with it, the two of them laughing at this, Billy incredulous and amused and Dominic embarrassed as hell. “That work for you?” Billy laughs.

“That’ll do fine, sure.” Dominic releases him and leans back, returning to his beer.

Billy finishes his drink and licks his lips, Elijah instantly motioning for another for him somewhere in the background. Dominic barely registers this; he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of Billy since he walked in, which is not at all unusual. But it is unusually welcome tonight—and returned.

Billy leans over, his breath burning with whiskey as it ghosts over Dominic’s cheek. “I sort of wish you still worked here.”

“Hm? Why?” In the dim light from the little candle on their table, Dominic’s eyes twinkle with curiosity.

“So I could harass you,” Billy explains. “I’d change my order ten times and leave you no tip.”

“Pfft,” Dominic smiles. “I was so cute back then. You’d’ve hit on me shamelessly all night and left your number on the receipt. Drawn little hearts around it.” He draws an imaginary heart in the air with his finger.

A laugh bursts from Billy’s throat, but he doesn’t pull out of Dominic’s space. “Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

Billy looks him over, weighing this cocky reply with the Dominic he saw at the exhibition, intrigued once again by his chameleon tendencies. He wonders if they were innate or learned, something he picked up on the job. “Probably.” He offers a smile as he ponders a teenage Dominic, a not-at-all teenage Dominic looking back at him with eyes that have seen worlds more since then.

Suddenly it’s Billy’s turn to jump. He grips the pocket of his denims (which he’d insisted on changing into after two hours or more with his defense committee), extracting his vibrating mobile with a sigh. “I thought that was you,” he says to Dominic, nearly throwing the device onto the table like a small erratic animal. He flips it over awkwardly, drawing the attention of everyone at the table so that, unfortunately, his reaction to the name flashing there is laid bare for everyone to see. As good as he’s gotten at controlling his feelings, or at least how he expresses them, this is something he can’t hide; he had no preparation for it.

Elijah reacts the way Billy would expect, right away, with a low, drawn-out _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Orlando looks perplexed. Dominic doesn’t react at all; he’s too busy watching Billy.

It’s incredible, Billy realizes, how when someone calls, it’s as if they’re suddenly there in the room with you, even if you do nothing more than sit staring at their name in bland, impersonal text flashing ( _Braedan calling..._ ) until finally, blessedly, it doesn’t anymore. There is a brief lull, and then Billy’s phone vibrates again: _1 Missed Call_. As if he could have forgotten. Billy stares at it but doesn’t touch it in the vain hope that it isn’t real, that he’s hallucinated it.

“Why is he calling you?” Elijah nearly lunges across the table.

“Lij, just fuck off a second, yeah?” Billy says quietly. He’s been turning over that same exact question since he first threw his phone on the table. He jumps again as it vibrates one last time: _1 New Voicemail_. Of course. _Fuck._

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this shit,” Elijah says, looking all but ready to grab the phone and listen for himself.

Billy merely gives him a look as he rises unsteadily to his feet and picks up his mobile, hastily pulling his coat back on and stuffing it into his pocket. He gives Dominic what he hopes is a reassuring look. “Be back in a minute.”

*

**CLOSE-UP ON BILLY**

The heavy door at the front gives a loud _thump_ as it shuts, punctuating the interruption of their good time. Orlando instantly hones in on Elijah. “Who was that? What’s their history?”

Elijah raises his eyes to Dominic, who tries his best to look only casually interested. “Long story.” It’s obvious that Orlando wants to press for more, but Elijah’s expression clearly says _fuck off._ He makes a valiant effort to change the subject, but Orlando doesn’t seem willing to talk about much of anything, especially where he himself is concerned.

Dominic looks down at his hands in his lap as Orli and Lij quietly make false starts and stops of conversation, twisting each of his rings until the seal between the metal and his skin comes apart and they spin loose around his knuckles. After a while, he glances back at the front entrance, and, finding no activity there, conjures the image of Braedan from Billy’s photo. He feels sick to his stomach.

Eventually, their food arrives, just to mock him, he’s convinced, and Billy still hasn’t returned. Elijah steals a chip from their plate and pops it in his mouth, rising to his feet. “I’m gonna go check on him.”

Dominic reaches across the table to briefly grip his hand. “No, I’ll go.”

Elijah freezes, hesitates for a moment, then falls back into his seat. “It’s a good idea,” he says quietly, leaving Orlando perplexed and annoyed.

Dominic wastes no time whipping his own coat out of the booth and pulling it onto his arms. He hears Orlando’s fierce whisper fading behind him as he strides toward the front entrance, fumbling with his buttons, unconcerned with how they line up. A couple of the guys that tend bar are having a smoke out front, and though their eyes linger on him they don’t seem to recognize him. He gives them a nod and turns the corner round to the side of the building, vaguely remembering the outdoor seating Green Briar featured when he was there that week many, many summers ago. It’s not open now, he knows, but the gate is tellingly ajar.

He turns sideways to fit himself through the space Billy made there, slowing his stride in case he’s liable to interrupt something. The summer Christmas-style lights are still hung around the perimeter of the courtyard—and lit—but all the outdoor furniture is covered with white tarp that billows a bit in the wind. Billy stands at the center of all this, holding his phone to his mouth and staring off into space.

He doesn’t notice Dominic until he’s nearly in his lap. He looks up but his expression doesn’t change. “Hi.”

Dominic gives him a warm, controlled smile. “Hey.”

Finally, Billy pockets his phone and exhales heavily. “Can I have a fag?”

“‘S not that kind of bar, I don’t think,” Dominic quietly jokes, though he hands him a cigarette without hesitation. He watches closely as he holds his lighter up to Billy, the flame illuminating his eyes, which look as if they’ve seen a ghost. “Food came, so I thought I’d check on you.”

That first stream of smoke curls from Billy’s nose and mouth as he nods. “Thanks,” he says as an afterthought, whether for the fag or the concern, Dominic’s not sure. “Things alright with you and Orlando?”

“No,” Dominic laughs. “Getting worse by the minute, actually.” He bounces a little, shivering as the wind picks up, blowing tufts of Billy’s hair around. “More importantly, how are you? What did he want?” He nods vaguely in the direction of Billy’s phone.

Billy shifts, his voice going low and soft, different than Dominic’s ever heard it sound before. “Ehm, it was Braedan—the guy in that photo, in—” Dominic nods vigorously. “He’s going to be in Boston, and he wants to know if I can get a coffee this week.” Dominic looks at him with quiet, intense expectation. “‘S been nearly five years since we last spoke,” Billy explains, as if that’ll be at all sufficient.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Billy’s brow furrows as he sucks intently on the cigarette.

Dominic bites at his lip, fiddling with his lighter in his pocket. “Are you going to go?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t called him back yet.”

There is a long silence, then, during which Billy finishes his cigarette and Dominic’s certain he’s aged another five years from when he was here last. Dominic silently offers him another, like a bartender coaxing a customer’s troubles, and this time Billy looks at him with familiar, grateful eyes. “Time for me to bare my soul, then?”

Dominic shrugs, though he feels anything but nonchalant. “Only if you want to.”

Billy inhales deeply again. “I’ll give you the short version.”

“You don’t have to,” Dominic is quick to say. “I mean, I’m interested, but—”

“No,” Billy interrupts, decisive. “I want to tell you.”

Dominic swears he can feel his eyes and his ears opening as far as they can; underneath that overworked fatigue, he’d always suspected that there was more to Billy’s exhaustion, a different kind of pain, and since Billy vaguely confirmed it over Christmas he’s been dying to know what it looks like.

“After college, I was working at this PR firm doing shit work, but it was really all I could get with a communications concentration, you know?” Billy looks up at Dominic, who urges him on with a nod and a half-smile. “He was working for a record company, also doing shit work,” he laughs, “but he was a musician—I picked up guitar from him, actually. He thought it might, I don’t know, lead to something. Never did. Anyway.” Billy’s eyes go warm at the memory. “We were working with a couple of his company’s bands, and we sort of met that way. I’d make calls to the company, and he’d pick up, and same with him and me. We’d end up spending about two minutes setting up an appointment or whatever, and then he’d ask about music I liked and we’d talk about it. Finally, there was this big in-person meeting. We were both in there taking notes, and there was this... connection there. We kept making faces at each other, started passing notes, like two fucking schoolgirls,” he laughs. “Toward the end of the meeting, he said _We should hang out_ ,” Billy scribbles in the air, “and I said sure, and we exchanged numbers. I thought it was just friendly for a while, but then it started getting kind of blurry. But, you know, we were both sort of tiptoeing, yeah? I’m sure you know how that goes.”

Dominic inhales, nodding, wondering fleetingly if Billy realizes what he’s just said.

“Anyway, it just kept... escalating, until one night, we were hanging out in my flat getting pissed and he just leaned over and kissed me. And it wasn’t weird or anything, afterward, so I thought, _Good, this isn’t just some sort of experiment._ And we were together for a year or so in Glasgow before he decided he wanted to go to New York, try to, eh, make it as a musician.” Any ounce of warmth is instantly washed from Billy’s face. “So I left my job and my sister and my friends and everything, and went with him.”

Dominic’s eyebrows shoot up of their own accord. Even without Billy having said so, he knows then just how crazy he was about this guy; he’s not nearly impulsive enough to have uprooted his life without good reason.

“I said short version, didn’t I?” Billy laughs, some of that happy relaxation from earlier coming back to the surface. He takes a breath, centering himself for the next bit. “New York was difficult. We had only enough saved to get us by for a couple of months, but eh, Braedan had all these big ideas about the life he wanted to have there. I tried to be the voice of reason, but I ended up supporting him mostly. I was working two jobs and doing some freelance PR writing on the weekends and nights I could keep my eyes open. He had his gigs,” Billy rolls his eyes. “I would have realized I was miserable if I didn’t love him so much.”

Dominic holds his breath at that, expecting the worst is to come. Billy’s voice goes tight like it physically aches to say it out loud.

“It went on like that for about a year and a half. We were living in a fairly decent apartment—it was nicer than we should have had first off. One night I came home early from a shift at work, and there was this girl with him there, just hanging out, but. He said they’d met at some gig and they were friends, and I didn’t think anything of it. But about a month or so later, I came home late one night and he wasn’t there, and all of his things were gone. No warning, no explanation, nothing.”

It cuts Dominic unspeakably deep to imagine this scene in his mind, but he does so anyway.

“I tried calling him a few times over the next week, but of course he never answered. I started thinking of all these possible reasons he could have left, making excuses for him and actually thinking some might be true. It’s the closest to crazy I’ve ever felt. I started to think maybe I’d imagined the last three or four years of my life altogether.” Billy finally returns to his cigarette, taking a deep drag before putting it out on the ground.

Dominic struggles to find his voice. “What happened then?”

“I stayed in the apartment a little while, as long as I could afford it, which wasn’t very long. I was hoping he’d come back, which of course he didn’t. And then I stayed in another place for a little while after that. What’s sad is that I didn’t want to leave New York right away. I wanted to stay there, hoping I’d run into him, that I’d finally get an explanation, even though I knew what it was, especially looking back on it now. And after I’d gotten over that, part of me wanted to prove that there were other reasons I came there, that I could start a life of my own there. But I never got there. The city was so connected to what had happened, to him, for me, that I grew to hate it. Even now, I can’t remember liking anything about it. He ruined it for me.”

Dominic hesitates before quietly asking, “Why d’you still have that picture of him up in your room?”

Billy huffs out the start of a bitter laugh and shakes his head, looking away. “I don’t know.” After a long moment, during which Dominic half-expects him to come up with a real answer, he turns back, his eyes a bit glassy. “I don’t know,” he says again. “It’s fucking frightening to think you know someone so well and have them turn out to be someone completely different. I should have known. He was always performing in a way, even when it was just the two of us. It’s incredible what you can’t see when you’re in the thick of it, you know?”

Dominic nods, thinking of Ian. He sighs. “The big question is, are you going to get coffee with him?”

Billy gives that same bitter laugh as he nods. “‘S funny. All I’ve wanted all these years is an explanation, and now that I have the opportunity to get it, I’m not sure I’m ready.” He gives an exaggerated sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Such a good day, and then.”

“Well,” Dominic offers, “you don’t have to decide what you’re going to do now. I mean, fuck it, he can wait a few hours for a call back, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Billy says faintly, but Dominic knows what his decision is going to be, even if he doesn’t yet. And he knows there’s no hope of them getting back to that easy, comfortable place they were just under an hour before—not tonight, anyway.

 


	28. Fic: Boston (39-41/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy gets closure.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** Billy gets closure.  


**SCENE 39. - INT. PROFESSOR BOYD'S CLASSROOM - MONDAY AFTERNOON**

“We’re all obsessive in a way, aren’t we?”

The students in Billy’s new class look up at him quizzically, the few distracted ones actually broken out of daydreams or work from other classes for the moment. It’s early on, so they’re still polite, not quite comfortable with him yet, trying to figure him out and decipher his accent.

“We obsess over moments from our own lives, _scenes_ from our lives. We’re compelled to relive them over and over, whether good or bad.” A girl in the front row—Rosie, he takes a second to remind himself—gives him a little smile of understanding. “When I say something stupid in front of a room full of students, for example, I cannot stop thinking about it. For weeks.

“My good memories, likewise, stay on a loop in my head, much like a projector that won’t stop running, sometimes for years. They’re a comfort when I’m unhappy or unfulfilled.” He stops for a moment, futzing with a corner of the podium (which he refuses to stand behind), wondering if that last bit had gone too far. “That’s at least part of the appeal of film, I suppose, for all of us. The movies I love are comforting because they’re always the same, they’re reliable, and I can relive my favorite moments from them over and over again.”

Billy’s managed to stop reliving his and Dominic’s nights together— _together_ —but he hasn’t stopped seeing Dom as this world he wants to get completely lost in, give himself over to. That hasn’t gotten less frightening.

He’s had some reprieve, if you could call it that, since hearing from Braedan. Over the past few days, those long minutes prior to sleep that used to be devoted to replaying his most favorite of Dom’s tics and facial expressions have suddenly switched over to a different station, one that specializes in resurrecting old memories from the dead. These memories, or scenes, have ranged from the best—his and Braedan’s first kiss—to the worst—that empty fucking flat in New York.

Since he first started teaching, it’s always amazed Billy just how quickly his students can make him feel his age. These memories of Braedan have the exact opposite effect; just recalling them makes him feel naive and childish, easily bruised. It’s an awful feeling to go to bed with.

“For Scottie in _Vertigo_ , these isolated moments with Madeline have defined his life. He can’t stop reliving them,” Billy says quietly, working to get himself back on track.

He continues his lecture with some level of distraction, right up until Dominic appears inside the projection room at the back, peering out from behind the glass there. Billy’s heart lurches, both at the sight of him and the knowledge of what it means: it’s officially half-four, nearly the end of class, when he’ll dismiss his students and start on his way to meet Braedan.

*

**SCENE 40. - EXT. TREMONT STREET - MINUTES LATER**

Billy and Dominic take their time strolling, Dominic mostly to keep Billy’s slow pace.

“Not in a rush to get there, are you?” Dominic gives him a gentle smirk.

“Not really, no.” Billy turns, looking over at Dominic, hands shoved deep within his pockets, his brow furrowed, and wonders what he must be thinking. “Thank you for doing this. I can use all the moral support I can find.”

“‘M happy to be here for you,” Dominic says quietly, his eyes blue and earnest under the bright winter sun.

“‘S just.” Billy stops them, one hand reaching for Dominic’s bicep. “I don’t want you to feel that you owe me something, for... I don’t know. The art showing.”

Dominic smiles again, this time bemused. “You really have a hard time accepting help, don’t you?”

Billy’s eyes narrow at him, as if he’s hearing this for the first time. He smiles, though there is still a shiver in his voice. “I suppose I do.”

Dominic doesn’t tear his eyes away until Billy’s turned from him, back on their path toward the coffee shop, actually the very same one where they had met up for the first time. Dominic inhales as it starts to come into view, the reminder of Billy’s words cutting him even deeper than they had on that day: _I don’t want us to have that kind of relationship. You understand?_ He’s still not sure what Billy meant by _something better_ , but he’s still grateful to have him right here beside him than not, especially after nearly a month without him.

A few storefronts away from the coffee shop, Billy stops, taking a deep breath. Dominic follows suit in empathy. Billy holds his arms outstretched, laughing ruefully at himself as he says, “How do I look?”

“Good. Ready.”

“As ready as I’m ever going to be, I suppose,” Billy mutters, straightening his peacoat.

Dominic quickly grabs at his hands, using them to pull him in for a tight embrace. Billy laughs, grateful and now more nervous than he can remember being as Dominic presses a heartfelt kiss to his cheek, his lips soft but cold. “Don’t. Um.” Dominic holds him at his elbows. “Don’t let him make you feel... anything less than you are. Alright?”

Dominic grimaces, clearly dissatisfied with his own words, but to Billy they’re terribly intimate, perhaps too intimate for just now. Billy nods, overwhelmed. “Thank you.”

“Good luck.” Dominic is reluctant to let him go, but he manages, looking back over his shoulder just once as he walks back in the direction from which they'd come.

*

**SCENE 41. - INT. BOSTON COMMON COFFEE CO. - A FEW MOMENTS LATER**

It comes as no surprise to Billy that he’s the first to arrive, and that feeling brings back a little detail that he’d long forgotten: Braedan was almost always late, to the point where it was cause for celebration on the occasions when he wasn’t. Billy quickly realizes how awful it is to be on time, as the long moments before Braedan comes walking through the door turn out to be the worst. In Dominic’s absence he suddenly panics, wondering fiercely what the fuck prompted Braedan to reach out at all, what he hopes to accomplish in this meeting, whether it’ll be clear or not by the end of it. Billy fears seeing him and feeling everything he did and even some things he didn’t when they were together, hating himself for it all the while.

When Braedan finally does walk in—ten minutes late—there’s a moment where Billy’s heart drops into his stomach. But once it passes, there is an eerie calm that comes over him. He has the brief advantage of distance, having chosen a seat closer to the back than the front, watching clandestinely for a few privileged moments as Braedan scans the coffee shop for him. He’s still beautiful, compelling in that slightly tortured way he always had, but Billy also notices straight away that he’s considerably weathered, having lost much of that glow that used to follow him like wake from a speedboat, that that photo in his room had captured so perfectly.

He’s not the same person anymore, at all, but more importantly, neither is Billy. As Braedan spots him and makes his way over, Billy wonders where that previous version of himself went. Did it vanish into thin air? He thinks of one of the first lectures he’d had in school, about films from the first part of the 20th century that had been lost. He still can’t imagine how something so real could just erode, dissolve into nothing, forever. He can't lament it, though, in this case.

Braedan gives him a muted smile, one that is the perfect embodiment of his overall change. “Hello.”

Billy doesn’t rise from his chair, but he does offer him a smile in return; whether or not he means it is anyone’s guess. “Hi. Did you want something?” He gestures toward the counter, gripping his own coffee like an anchor.

Braedan refuses, shaking his head as he shifts awkwardly in his seat. They look at each other for a long moment.

“Well,” Billy says, breaking the silence, “the world hasn’t exploded yet.”

Braedan laughs, settling visibly. “You haven’t punched me, either.”

“‘S still early,” Billy deadpans, catching Braedan off-guard for a second. “I’m kidding.” Braedan still has the sense to look ashamed but says nothing. “So, what brings you here?” Braedan looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Boston, I mean.”

“Eh, I’ve got a gig on Saturday. Thought I’d make a trip of it.”

Billy shrinks a bit in his chair, his voice going cool. “Oh, that’s good. Are you still with, ehm, Dream Machine, then?”

“No, I stopped playing with them years ago. Been doing mostly singer-songwriter stuff since then.” Braedan looks down at his hands where they rest in loose semicircles on the table, as if silently willing a cup between them. “You’re in school, yeah?”

“Doing my doctorate, at Suffolk,” Billy is quick to correct. “Actually, it’s done. I just did my dissertation defense last week, so ‘s just a matter of getting hooded,” he explains with a heavy, pleased sigh, suddenly feeling perfectly smug in retrospect.

“‘S great.” Braedan nods, overwhelmed, clearly out of his element in this conversation, which gives Billy a sick kind of pleasure. “I ran into, eh, Tom last year, in New York, actually—he’s in law school there now. He mentioned what you were doing, so.”

Billy remembers Tom, a friend of theirs from Glasgow, from the honeymoon days. He’d been Braedan’s friend first but was a fantastic enough guy that Billy’d found great solace in him in the years after they parted. He’d spent hours on the phone with Tom from New York and then Boston, always trying to figure out together what exactly had happened. By that point, Tom hadn’t heard a word from Braedan, either.

“I remember you always reading those books when we were still in Glasgow, but I’d no idea how involved you’d gotten with it.”

Billy nods, his mouth drawing up tight. “Well. You were otherwise occupied.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

“Bill—” Braedan starts, and Billy wants to demand that he take it back; he has no right to even such a simple intimacy.

Instead, he shrugs. “You were.” They look at each other, something in the air between them breaking, relief flooding Billy now that they’re no longer dealing in shite pleasantries. “I’m not here to argue with you. I’m not sure why I’m here, to be honest.”

Braedan looks at a loss for words. “There’s nothing you want to say to me? You’re not angry?”

Billy’s gut reaction is to say yes, scream it, actually, along with some other less savory words, probably not suited for this quiet little coffee shop in the middle of winter. But when he stops and actually considers Braedan’s question, he finds he can’t. “No. _I was._ Fucking hated you, as a matter of fact. For a long time.”

“Alright,” Braedan says, as if he’d expected that, wanted it even.

“But I’m not the same person I was when we were together, and neither are you, I’m sure. I still have wounds, ‘m not going to pretend that I don’t. But it’s not personal anymore. It can’t be.” Billy levels his eyes at him. “At the risk of sounding dramatic, though, you did ruin my life, what my life was at that time. I had nothing when you left, nothing at all. Wasn’t the first time, either,” he laughs ruefully. “My mind and my heart—my ego—went places I never thought they could before that, horrible places.” Billy breathes deeply, some of that old, nearly forgotten anger resurfacing as he looks at the object of it for the first time in years. “D’you know I haven’t been back to New York since? It’s still too attached to all that for me. Nearly got in the way of my dissertation.”

Braedan looks genuinely guilty at that, though he couldn’t possibly understand.

“There was a series at Film Forum with some rare prints that had just been uncovered, that they hadn’t even begun to copy. It went on for nearly a month. My advisor couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t go,” Billy laughs, the pain of that scenario so real in memory but completely out of his heart now. “I made up some shite about a sick friend.” Braedan is silent, and Billy relents, suddenly feeling as if he’s chiding a little kid. “That’s all over now, though. I got through it. It’s made me who I am, in a way.”

Braedan watches Billy carefully, clearly wanting to offer him something but unsure how to proceed. “I don’t want to blame it on age—”

Billy shakes his head, looking pointedly away from him.

“Don’t do that, please listen for a minute.” Braedan leans toward him, his voice low and fierce. “I’m not going to blame it on age, but you’re right: we were both different then, me especially. I was, eh, extraordinarily selfish. I could never see myself doing something like that now. I would have talked to you, told you—”

Billy waves his hand in front of him, all but wincing. “Stop, don’t. Let’s not. I really don’t want to.”

“I just want to—”

“ _No._ ” Billy glances about, realizing that some of the surrounding patrons are obviously trying in vain not to listen to their conversation. He smiles at the irony of Braedan claiming to no longer be so selfish when he keeps pressing this twisted non-apology that Billy so clearly doesn’t want to hear. “It’s not worth anything now. Really.”

Braedan exhales heavily. “I’ve missed you.”

Billy finally looks at him again, something relenting, unraveling in his stomach, in spite of his own stubbornness. For a moment, he allows himself to remember every good feeling this man had ever made him feel, every bit of laughter and kindness he offered.

“You were always such a... _good_ presence in my life,” Braedan continues. “There’ve been so many times over the past few years where I really wished I could just pick up the phone and call you to tell you something that had happened to me, or share something I remembered or thought...”

“I understand that,” Billy says softly, turning his nearly empty coffee cup over the surface of the table. “I've been here, though. I've always been here. You could have.” He is suddenly, deeply glad, though, that Braedan never did reach out in all that time. He’s not sure he would have been ready for it even just last year. “You know, until recently, I thought that I hadn’t been enough for you, that that’s why... and that’s probably true. But I finally realized that you weren’t enough for me, either.” Billy thinks of Dominic’s words only minutes ago, from just before he’d come in here. “It took being alone all that time to figure out what I want, what I need to be happy.”

“You haven’t seen anyone?”

Billy laughs a little; of course that’s the bit that Braedan would take from all that. “What does that matter?”

Braedan is quick to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—I’m just making conversation.”

Billy’s smile widens. “‘M not sure I buy that, but alright.” He thinks of Dom again. “No, I haven’t seen anyone. I don’t think I wanted to, before.”

Braedan offers a smile of his own at that, though it’s a tentative one, one with plenty more questions underneath it.

One of Billy’s clearest memories of Braedan, one of the most persistent, has been their last morning together, the morning of the day Billy’d come home to a half-empty flat and no note. He’d worked that very night to commit it to memory, Braedan’s sun-drenched face and messy hair against the pillow as he slipped out of bed not knowing it would be the last time he’d see him until now. Now, he knows without a doubt that this will be the last time he ever sees him. “I have to get going,” Billy says, finishing off his coffee and rising to his feet.

Braedan doesn’t look surprised. “Sick friend?”

Billy ducks his head as he shrugs on his peacoat, glad he understands. “It was good seeing you. I really mean that.” Braedan doesn’t reply, though his expression is friendly, calmer. Billy raps his knuckles decisively on the table before tossing his coffee, pulling his collar up around his neck, and walking out the door.

 

 


	29. Fic: Boston (42/?, WIP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's another day for you and me in Paradise.

**Premise:** AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.  
 **Rating:** PG-13 to NC-17  
 **Feedback:** is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.  
 **Summary:** It's another day for you and me in Paradise.  


**SCENE 42. - INT. PARADISE - TWO DAYS LATER**

Dominic feels like his relationship with Paradise is a good metaphor for how his life has gone over the past few years; he always seems to end up in the exact same place, despite how thoroughly he recognizes his own hatred of it. Now that he feels like he’s made some real, true progress, for the first time in just as long, this is the last place he wants to be getting a drink.

_Fucking Orli._

Orlando had insisted that they all needed a “real” celebration for Billy officially passing his defense, though Dominic suspected he was just applying an occasion to tonight as an excuse to get a little fucked up. Orli has something _extra_ about him whenever he’s holding, an electric current in his limbs that would be much more at home in Dom’s own veins, a restless gleam in his eyes as they dart around the dancefloor and the mezzanine level above where the go-go dancers gyrate with purpose.

Over these past weeks that they’ve grown apart, Dominic has readily given up his title as Orlando’s keeper, and he has no intention of reclaiming it tonight. In fact, he’s pretty much had it with all the old roles he used to play. What Billy’d said to him at the gallery, those words he’d so generously gifted to him—they’ve dug their way under Dominic’s skin and become a fixture there, a reminder of what he’s striving to become—and overcome.

About ten minutes in, Dominic is seated at the bar nursing a whiskey and feeling completely restless. Orli’s distracted non-presence at his side certainly isn’t helping. Dominic hasn’t heard anything from Billy about Braedan, apart from a painfully vague response to a text the same afternoon they’d met. To be fair, Billy’s been awfully busy, drowning in yet another sea of paperwork _after_ having handed in his dissertation and done his defense, all repetitive, bureaucratic shite that he’d rather throw into the Charles than actually sit and complete (Billy’s words). Still, Dominic can’t help but be concerned. The only thing comforting him is the thought that Billy will be here soon. Soon he’ll have some answers.

A few moments later, Elijah sidles up to him, and Dominic can’t help but look past him as they greet each other. “Billy’s running late,” Elijah explains, reading the look in Dom’s eyes with an amused little smirk before moving on to Orlando, who’s on his second glass of ice water so far. Dominic looks toward the entrance again, trying to will Billy there with his mind. He pulls his mobile from his pocket and sends a quick text without thinking: _Get here already!_

He can vaguely hear Orlando and Elijah flirting and snuggling and laughing together, though he does his best to tune it out and pay most of his attention to his drink, until Orli pokes him in the side, hard. “Stop trying so hard to not have fun.” Elijah giggles, already a bit tipsy.

“Fuck off,” Dominic says, pounding back a couple of whiskey-tinged ice cubes and chewing them until his tongue starts to go numb.

Elijah quickly extricates himself from Orli’s grip and moves behind him, motioning to the bartender, giving them a bit of privacy.

Orlando wastes no time leaning in. “You’ve got to stop thinking about this, man. Don’t think I didn’t hear you pacing around in the kitchen all last night. It’s not worth it.”

Dominic gives him his patented _You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about_ face as he places his empty on the bar and hops down from the stool. “Fuck off,” he repeats, and moves into the quickly burgeoning crowd. He doesn’t dance, though; it’s simply a means of getting to the other side, a clearing with no bar and, more importantly, no people. He turns and leans back against a metal pole leading up to the mezzanine, closing his eyes, ignoring the flash of the strobe behind his eyelids.

Orlando’s right, of course; he _had_ been pacing the kitchen early into this morning. But it hadn’t just been about Billy; it’d been about bloody everything. He’s been deliberately turning his whole fucking life upside down and hasn’t had much of a chance to let his brain catch up and get used to the idea. He’d read a quote recently though, from some up-and-coming photographer who liked to put herself in extremely dangerous situations in order to get the rarest shots. She’d said, “If you want something you’ve never had before, you have to do something you’ve never done before.” Dominic had clipped it from the mag and put it on the fridge. It’s inspiring, but it doesn’t make any of what he’s dealing with less hard, really.

When the next song begins, his mobile vibrates against his thigh, and he nearly tosses it sliding across the floor in his attempt to pull it out. _Getting there :)_ it says, from Billy. Dominic takes a deep breath and exhales, energized again, at least until Orlando slithers his way through the crowd and approaches.

“What?” Dominic says, instantly irritated again.

Orlando leans in close. “Peace offering.” He pulls a piece of candy from the pocket of his denims, wrapped in clear blue plastic. Dominic examines it, noticing a tinge of orange on Orlando’s own lips and tongue in hindsight. The candy resembles a pacifier, only the nipple part is a green lolly. Dominic raises skeptical eyes to him. “Sour apple,” he shouts over the music.

“Thanks,” Dominic yells back, though begrudgingly so, before peeling away the wrapper and sticking the candy in his mouth. He shrugs at Orli. _Not bad._

Orlando’s eyes twinkle as he sneaks around to Dominic’s back, wrapping full-body around him and shuffling him back out onto the dance floor. “ _Fun_ ,” he breathes into Dominic’s ear, not a suggestion but a demand. When Orli finds them a spot in the center of the floor, Dominic gives one last look at the entrance for Billy before he begins to move half-heartedly. Orlando is like a pinball bathed in orangey light, hopping and writhing about before him, alone at first and then sandwiched between two guys who appear to be a couple.

Dominic turns away and closes his eyes, Orlando’s voice repeating in his head like a mantra: _Fun._ He finds his limbs a bit looser than he would have expected, for only one whiskey in. He decides to blame his lack of sleep the night before and just go with it.

 

When Billy finally makes his way past coat check, he expects Dominic to all but accost him; he’d received two more texts after the first, very uncharacteristic for Dom but not unwelcome. He can’t seem to find anyone, though, at least not for the first few minutes; the crowd at Paradise is nearing its peak, if Billy’s last trip here was any indication. It certainly doesn’t help that Billy’s on the shorter side, half-naked, glittery bodies towering over him as he pushes his way to the first bar downstairs.

It takes a while, but by the time he gets the attention of one of the bartenders, a rather large group of rather large guys has moved from their perch there, leaving a row of empty stools. He quickly slides onto one and drapes his coat over the next.

“Hey!” a familiar voice calls, Billy lifting his eyes to take in Elijah just before he pulls him into an enthusiastic hug. Lij ruffles his hair as he pulls back, putting them at arm’s length. “Fucking crazy tonight, right?”

Billy glances at his watch, noting that it’s not yet eleven. “Yeah.” He looks past Elijah.

“They’re dancing.” Elijah rises up on his toes to give the crowd a proper search and leans toward Billy, pointing out Dominic and Orlando after he’s found them.

Billy follows Elijah’s finger and laughs at the display he finds on the other end, Dom and Orlando jumping straight up and down and pumping their fists in the air, a far cry from actual dancing.

Lij pushes a tumbler of whiskey into his hand, leaning in again. “Was supposed to be Dom’s but he clearly couldn’t give a fuck at this point.”

“Right,” Billy smiles. “Thanks.”

He spins around on the stool and takes a moment to look his fill at Dominic again, the wide, toothy smile, the sheen to his skin, still stubbornly tawny from months before, ever-so-slightly damp hair hanging in his eyes, which look quite manic from where Billy’s seated. Dominic doesn’t look totally carefree, not like Orlando seems to be, but he’s getting there, or at least putting on a good show of it. As a matter of fact, Billy’s not quite sure Orlando’s enthusiasm is totally genuine, either.

It only takes a moment for Dominic to glance over at him, as if his body knows instinctually that Billy’s arrived. A different kind of smile graces Dom’s face then, something softer but still a little dangerous. One of his hands flutters in the air in a sort of wave. Billy inhales and waves back, suddenly reminded of the last time they were here, when he’d offered Dominic a dance in the hopes of getting him to smile at him like that again after having gone far too long without.

There’s a visible swagger to Dominic as he saunters through the crowd and over to him, the kind that makes Billy take pause and remind himself of all the time that’s passed, that it isn’t still the first night they met. Billy holds his arms out in expectation. “You tell me to hurry up and get here, and then y’dance with every other man while I sit here drinking and sulking.”

Dominic doesn’t duck his head demurely, though; he levels Billy with liquid metal eyes as he steps up onto the platform where the bar is situated. “Come on, then.” He drapes both arms over Billy’s shoulders and brushes a kiss to his cheek, Billy feeling the perspiration on his upper lip as he does so. “Dance with me.”

“I’m working up to it,” Billy dodges, bringing his tumbler to his mouth for a drink and keeping his other hand draped resolutely over his own thigh.

Dominic glances down into the space between them when Billy lowers the drink. “‘S that mine? You thief.”

Billy silently offers it up to him, rendered slightly incoherent by the look in Dom’s eyes.

Dominic takes the glass but simply reaches behind Billy to place it on the bartop, pressing all warm against him as he does so. “So, how are you then?” Dom asks airily, his breath ghosting over Billy’s neck and making his stomach tumble.

Billy’s other hand flails, confused, before falling to his opposite thigh next to the other. He swears he can feel each and every groove in his fingertips pressing against the denim. Dominic pulls back, shuffling nearly right between his legs, and Billy swallows. “Good. Was enjoying watching you.”

“‘M sorry I stopped, then.” Dominic tilts his head and jerks it back in the direction of the dance floor. “Shall I keep going?”

“‘S alright,” Billy laughs a little, nervously, he realizes, at about the same time he registers one of Dominic’s fingers stroking the back of his neck, not with intention, just a simple vertical drag that also feels somewhat damp. Billy struggles to keep his eyes open, gaze traveling from the color high in Dom’s cheeks to the light brown fan of Dom’s eyelashes, which are so fucking close he can count each and every one of them. “Look just as good standing still,” he says quietly, too quiet for Dom to hear by the looks of his face, all scrunched and suddenly leaning impossibly closer. Billy isn’t sure he intended for Dom to hear him to begin with. He waves one hand in the air between them as if to say _Nevermind_ , and wishes for his drink again.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Dominic says, his eyes turning pensive.

“It’s hard to compete.” Billy gestures at the music and the overall atmosphere.

Dom shakes his head. “No, I mean, since.” His hand drops to Billy’s thigh, over Billy’s own hand, and they both jump a little. Dominic quickly retracts it, using it to pull at his hair instead. “What happened?”

Billy stares at him for a long moment until he realizes that Dominic’s referring to Braedan. “Nothing, really. It was actually really positive.” Dominic leans in again, soaking in his words. Billy’s eyes drop to his mouth, and he wonders if it’s the lights making the inside of his lips look green or something else. “For me, anyway. He’s grown up quite a lot.”

Dominic pulls back, digging the heel of one of his hands into his eye, as if trying to press some internal reset button.

Without a thought, Billy reaches out and curls his fingers around his wrist. “Y’alright?”

Dominic nods quickly, though his eyes have lost some of their trademark sharpness.

Before Billy can inquire further, two long, equally tan, gangly arms wrap around Dominic’s chest from behind, pulling him back towards the throng again. Orlando’s head pops over his shoulder. “Sorry Billy, we’re bonding tonight!”

He and Dominic both give each other a lamentful look as they’re essentially torn apart. Elijah appears beside Billy again, shrugging, his eyebrows trying their best to reach his hairline.

“What are they on?” Billy says, looking intently after Dom, his protective streak kicking in, which is beyond absurd considering how their relationship started.

“E,” Elijah says, a world of exhaustion underneath the simple letter.

“Do they know what they’re doing?” Billy asks, needlessly.

Elijah purses his lips. “It’s candy. Barely enough to do much damage.”

Just from the look on Elijah’s face, Billy infers that he’s seen Orlando on his share of shite, so he is the best authority at this point. “What’s going on with you?” Billy’s going for nonchalant, but it’s impossible when faced with the obviously growing schism between Lij and Orlando.

“I am way too tired to answer that loaded fucking question.” He turns to Billy with a fake smile. “What’s going on with _you_?”

Rather than answer, Billy simply pulls Lij into an affectionate headlock, a wordless statement of their bond in this mad situation, having gotten into this mess together. Falling for these two.

It occurs to Billy, as he watches them dance again, that Orlando’s likely still tricking. He can’t even imagine how he’d handle Dom going back to that, not now. A small part of him wonders if Dominic’s even been entirely truthful about it.

Seemingly in a flash, Billy’s next peek through the crowd at Dominic finds him shirtless with a lolly in his mouth (probably the kind Lij just mentioned), one of the rather large guys from earlier grinding enthusiastically with him from behind. A dark cloud sinks into Billy, spreading through his chest and stomach. The man with Dom has his hands all over him, but it isn’t until his fingers start inching up toward Dom’s nipples that Billy all but jumps from his stool.

After he's pushed his way into the crowd, Billy hooks his fingers in Dominic’s belt loops, literally pulling him from the other man and stumbling against himself. “ _Mm_ ,” Dominic protests, looking nearly ready to fight until he realizes who’s standing in front of him. He pulls the lolly out with a pop, giggling. “Billy, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Can I have some of that?” Billy nods at the lolly. Dominic silently hands it over, his eyes going seductive like the embodiment of the drug itself. Without breaking eye contact, Billy drops it and kicks it sliding across the floor. Dominic either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind. Billy takes his hand, finding it damp and hot against his own. “Come on,” he smiles, trying his best to lure Dom away, though he seems more than willing and ready to follow. “Come sit with me, yeah?”

Dominic nods and smiles, looking suddenly sweet again. “Yeah,” he mouths, trailing behind Billy as if on air as they ascend the stairs to the mezzanine, which is a bit less crowded. On the way there, Billy motions to Lij, who’s still dutifully keeping their post at the downstairs bar, sitting on Billy’s coat now. Lij nods, acknowledging that he’s seen him.

“You seem to have lost your shirt, eh?” Billy says as he ushers Dominic over to the only empty table.

“Oops,” Dominic replies gracefully before just as gracefully dropping into Billy’s lap, rendering the empty chair across the table useless.

Billy clears his throat, his arms automatically going to rest on the arms of the chair, out of harm’s way. Dom’s whole body is heavy and damp, curled up not unlike his cat would be, except that he leans his head on Billy’s shoulder, breath warm and careless on his neck. The feel of Dominic’s bare skin is a shock to Billy's system, something it certainly wasn’t expecting tonight. He has to actively fight the urge to touch it.

There's laughter in Dom’s voice as he lifts his mouth to Billy’s ear. “Why’d you bring me all the way up here? Want me all to yourself, King Kong?”

Billy lets out a surprised, good-natured laugh at that. “Away from others, more like,” he admits.

Dominic rests his head again with a great big sigh, adjusting himself until his own arms are wrapped around Billy’s waist and his little round rose just skims the tip of one of Billy’s collar bones, jutting out from the collar of his shirt. “I like being close to you,” Dom says, his voice gone all high and boyish. “I’ve missed it.”

Billy can actually see his own heart pounding, insanely, in his chest. Or maybe it’s just the strobe. He breathes, absorbing that remark.

After a long moment, Dominic sits up again, his hands slip-sliding up to play with the buttons on Billy’s shirt as he leans his forehead against Billy’s temple. “You’re so careful around me now, with how you touch me. Why is that?” He glances up into Billy’s eyes, making it clear that he’s not going to back down until he gets an answer.

Billy turns his eyes down to their laps. “You’re with someone, aren’t you? David?” He knows that’s not the reason, though. Billy has only just begun to realize how fucking scared he is of his attraction to Dominic, how far he’ll be pulled in if he lets himself go and actually lets it happen. He knows Dominic could very well leave his heart completely decimated, worse than before.

“Over. Been over for a while. _Das Ende_ ,” Dominic laughs. “Wasn’t really much to begin with. Not like...”

Billy looks up. “Like what?”

Dominic lifts a finger to Billy’s mouth and begins tracing his lips. He taps the little divot above his upper lip until Billy gives him a playful glare. He doesn’t answer, though.

Billy grabs his hand, opening up his fingers so his palm shows. There’s a sweaty streak of numbers written sideways along Dominic’s lifeline. “What’s all this?”

“I’m keeping a tab,” Dominic says, still staring at Billy’s mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Dominic cradles Billy’s face in both of his hands, bringing their foreheads together again. “You know, you have the sweetest mouth I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen many.”

Billy’s reminded of the little scene he’d witnessed between Dominic and Ian the last time. He turns his head in Dom’s hands, glancing down to the spot at the bar from which he’d watched. And drank. “ _Dom._ ”

Dominic lets his hands drop to his lap. “What did I do to deserve such rejection, Professor?” he jokes.

“...Nothing.”

Dominic stares at him, then grabs blindly for a drink, any drink, finding a random abandoned one on the table behind him. “Liked it the first two times, yeah?” he mutters.

Before Dom can lift the glass to his mouth, Billy grabs it. “That’s not mine,” Billy warns, leaning to place it far on the other side of the table, cradling Dom’s back and legs to shift him comfortably before settling again. He stares at Dominic, who’s now doing everything in his power to avoid his eyes. “Why are you bringing that up?”

“It’s how we _met_!” Dominic suddenly explodes, sending Billy backward until he’s nearly pressed against the back of the chair. “You do remember that, don’t you? If you want to forget it, you can forget all the rest.” Dominic rises and starts toward the stairs.

Billy’s not exactly sure how to take that remark. It doesn’t stop him from following Dom, though. “Why would I want to forget it?” He grabs Dominic by the shoulders, forcing him to a stop. “I told you how important it was to me. How important _you_ are to me.”

“ _Christ._ ‘Important.’ You fucking love that word, don’t you?”

Billy shakes his head, stunned.

Dominic licks his lips and smiles ruefully. “‘I think we can be more important to each other.’ D’you remember that too?” Dominic slams his hand on the railing next to them for emphasis. “What the _fuck_ is more important? Clarify that for me, Billy.”

Billy starts to speak, barely hearing himself over everything else. “Dom, let’s talk outside. Get some air for a bit.”

“Nothing more to talk about,” Dominic dismisses before starting down the stairs. “I’ll go alone.”

“Dom, put on a fucking shirt at least, it’s fucking freezing outside.” He rushes after him, staying close behind as they descend the stairs. He reaches for his coat as they pass Elijah, pulling it from under him like a fucking magician and handing it to Dom over his shoulder as they make their way to the entrance.

“Fuck off,” Dominic tosses back at him, though he accepts his coat without a fight, pulling it around himself and frantically buttoning it just as Billy opens the door for the both of them. “ _Ah, shite_ ,” he hisses, shivering and jumping on the balls of his feet as he fishes a fag out of the pocket of his denims.

Billy echoes his shiver, slowly easing the heavy door shut as he mentally readies himself for whatever is about to happen. He almost laughs when Dominic offers him a cigarette. He refuses, watching as Dominic silently lights up and exhales a steady stream of smoke, difficult to discern from the white air expelling from his own mouth. The fresh albeit biting air has seemed to bring him halfway back to sober. Billy waits to speak until the charge in the air between them has died down some. “Christ, Dom,” he says gently. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he shoots back. Billy stares at him, waiting patiently for an actual explanation. Dominic shakes his head, his eyes filling with a pain Billy hasn’t seen since the night of the gallery opening. “I’m so sick of this. I feel like I’m bleeding all over you every second that we’re together.” Dominic looks out at the late night traffic, the intermittent groups of undergrads walking along, looking for a night not unlike the one they’re having—in theory, anyway. “I don’t know what you thought, but you can’t save me, Billy.”

“I don't know what you're—” Billy is quick to say.

“I mean, you can’t... keep others from me without claiming something for your own. ‘S not fair.” Dominic turns fully away, hiding his face.

“ _Dom._ ” Billy steps closer, inching between Dominic and a metal police rail they’ve commandeered as their spot. When he’s finally able to see Dom’s eyes, they’ve gone all liquid. “Where is this coming from? You’re not making any sense to me right now.”

Billy looks so genuinely lost that Dominic softens. He takes his time putting out his cigarette on the rail and pocketing it, careful to put it in his denims and not Billy’s coat. He takes one last look at Billy and then a deep breath that pushes his words out in a rush. “I just don’t understand. What’s the use in being so careful now? It’s done.” He reaches for Billy’s hands, using them to pull him closer. “This is happening, isn’t it? You feel it, yeah? You have to.”

It takes Billy twice as long as it should to fully register what it is that Dominic’s saying, for him to actually take it into his heart and let it get settled there. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, paralyzed, but mostly fucking terrified. He can feel Dom examining him.

“What’s keeping you from me?” Dominic whispers. After a moment, he drops Billy’s hands, running his own through his damp hair. “Oh.” He takes a big step back, putting distance between them. “You’re a hypocrite. Telling me not to be ashamed of my past, of what I am, when clearly you can’t even handle it yourself.”

“Dom, don’t—” Billy starts, but Dominic’s already walking away, starting down in the direction of the T.

“Fuck _off_. My life was so much easier without you in it.” Dominic’s stride isn’t quite on as he heads down the street.

Billy blinks past the utter sting of that remark. “Just—wait, let me get your coat and I’ll come with you.”

Dominic lets out a bitter laugh. “I’m fine.”

Billy runs after him. “You’re not.” He reaches into his back pocket and fishes his wallet out, quickly extracting some bills, which he hands out to Dom in offering. “Take a cab. _Please._ ”

Dominic gives him an incredulous look before he grabs the money, crumples it up, and tosses it to the ground.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, or morning of.

**SCENE 43. - INT. DOMINIC AND ORLANDO’S FLAT - LATER THAT NIGHT**

Dominic is still seated motionless at the kitchen table when Orlando’s key starts fumbling with the lock. This clumsy struggle lasts about half a minute, during which it never enters Dominic’s mind to get up and simply get the door for him. He has no interest in helping anyone right now, least of all Orli.

Their kitchen looks almost alien at this time of night, or morning, rather, the lights not quite right without the help of a little sunshine coming through the windows above the sink. Dominic presses the heels of his hands into his eyes at it, hoping the room will somehow be changed. Orlando squints as he walks through the door.

“Hey.”

“Where’s Lij?” Dominic asks, realizing his distinct giggle had been missing from the whole key-in-lock struggle.

“I sent him home,” Orlando replies, sounding surprised that Dominic would even ask. 

Dominic rests his elbows on the table and presses his hands into his eyes again, this time keeping them there. If it won’t change the lighting, maybe it’ll help Orli disappear.

“Billy dragged me off the dance floor and threatened to kill me if I didn’t come home and find you,” Orlando finally explains.

Dominic remains silent. He suddenly realizes that he and Orli are both in that weird space where they’re still a bit high off the drug but actively fighting against it, fighting through it to reach some level of conscious conversation. Dominic can’t even remember how he made it here; he can’t remember the ride on the T or even unlocking the front door and coming through himself. 

When Dominic finally brings his hands back to the table, his fingertips still light as feathers as they brush the surface, Orli is seated across from him with a glass of water.

“I don’t know why you still bother, man,” Orlando shakes his head. “I mean, I love Billy, but you knew where this was going, yeah? He’s a civilian. Nothing’s ever going to change how the two of you met.”

Dominic narrows his eyes, as much as he can manage given his current state. His immediate instinct is to snap at Orli, tell him that’s way too simple an assessment for what he and Billy have—but before he can open his mouth, thankfully, he realizes how fucking stupid that sounds, even to him, considering how tonight ended. He wonders how he’ll feel about it all tomorrow, if he’ll avoid Billy for another month like January, or maybe even longer, maybe for good. 

“He’s never going to be with you,” Orlando says as gently as he can manage. “The sooner you realize that—”

“I heard you the first fucking time, yeah?” Dominic mutters, raking a hand through his hair, which is still a damp, disgusting mess. He shivers. “Why don’t you want me to be happy?” The question surprises the both of them, Orlando’s eyes going wide and suddenly almost sober across the table. It’s unbearably strange, putting words to this awful thing that’s been lingering between them, hanging like a gargoyle over their flat, for weeks now. “Remember all the plays I used to go to for you? All those shit student film showings. I thought we were like brothers. I thought that actually meant something, beyond all this,” he waves a hand to indicate their place and, more specifically, the life.

Dominic wonders how many times they’ve sat here after a long night on the pull or _on the pull_ , commiserating and making plans, or not. Suddenly, it becomes unnecessary for Orlando to answer. Dominic licks his lips, finding them chapped. “I’m making changes, and it‘s fucking scary, especially for me, but I feel better about myself than I have... maybe ever.”

Orlando rolls his eyes and rises from his chair, striding to the sink behind Dominic to fill his glass again. 

“There are other ways of getting what you get from it.”

Orlando’s shut off the faucet, but he won’t answer.

Dominic huffs a laugh, exhausted from the two conversations—confrontations—he’s had just in the last hour or so. “Some fucking night, eh?”

Orlando’s hand reaches out over his shoulder, placing the glass of water gingerly on the table in front of him. “Drink all that,” he commands as he exits the kitchen, walks down the hall, and closes his bedroom door behind him.

*

**SCENE 44. - INT. BILLY’S FLAT - THE NEXT MORNING**

Billy wakes up—or rather forces himself out of bed and upright—with purpose, though one wouldn’t know it to look at him. As he passes the mirror in the hall, he finds a map of the night before etched across his face, the lines around his eyes more prominent than they’ve been since he’d been racing to the finish line of his manuscript, his complexion slightly yellowed. 

He’d considered following Dominic home last night, quickly rationalizing that he probably needed a bit of room to cool down and let the rest of the drug work its way through his system. Really, he’d been too scared to follow, too shell-shocked. Straight away, he’d recognized Dominic’s words outside the club as a challenge, his way of saying, _Alright, enough pissing around it: here’s where I’m at. Where are you?_ Billy’d known last night as he watched Dom walk away that the next time they spoke couldn’t be an ordinary conversation, or even an apology or awkward attempt at reconciliation on his part. Dom had thrown down the gauntlet, sober or no, and now it’s Billy’s turn.

Not long after he’d all but shoved Orlando out the door, Billy’d gone home himself, a bizarre, meandering sort of walk of shame that hadn’t ended when he’d finally reached his flat. He’d spent nearly the entire night in playback mode, reviewing every word, look, and touch he and Dominic had exchanged at Paradise, whether they’d been carefully chosen or managed to carelessly slip out. That had quickly turned into a retrospective on their relationship as a whole, where they’d begun and where they’d ended up. Billy’d kept coming back to the two of them in that church over Christmas, the image of Dominic performing small rituals that were second nature but also with the sense that he wasn’t welcome there at all.

Billy’d pretty much stared at the clock on his bedside table all night, watching the hours pass one after the other, waiting for the sun to come up with no fucking idea what he’d say to Dom when it did.

Now, he moves like a zombie through a drawn-out shower and dressing, giving Erin a pet and a few treats before lifting Dominic’s coat gingerly off the back of a chair at his little eating table. He takes a breath as he pulls it around himself, Dominic’s smell already embedded in the lining though he knows the coat is fairly new. He doesn’t eat. He’s decided to stop by a diner or deli by Dom for some takeaway breakfast first—food has always seemed to facilitate the connection between them, even since that very first night. 

The ride on the T goes by far too quickly, as does the search for food, Billy’s heart thundering in his chest as he approaches Dominic’s building, the front door staring back at him in accusation: _You opened me. You started this._

A frenetic-looking man in his forties bursts through the door, nearly scaring the piss out of Billy before he holds the door open for him. “Thanks,” Billy mutters, taking the steps from the makeshift lobby until he can go no further.

He takes a breath and clutches the paper bag from the deli, the sound of its crinkling echoing loudly through the hall before he knocks on the door.

“Fuck off!” comes the immediate response from the other side. Orlando.

“Orlando, it’s Billy! Sorry it’s so early.” Billy hears the shuffling of feet coming closer and closer, and, after some elaborate unlocking, the door swings open, a bleary-eyed but reasonably friendly Orlando standing at the threshold in pajama bottoms. 

“Hey, mate. Everything alright?” Orlando’s voice sounds expectedly rough.

“Yeah...” Billy glances over his shoulder at what he can see of their flat. “Is Dom around?”

Orlando’s eyes go a bit dark at the question. “No, he left early, man. Like, seven.” He turns around, shuffling toward the kitchen table and picking up a note. “Oh, yeah—he’s at Harvard.”

“In the darkroom?” Billy quickly asks. 

Orlando shrugs. “I guess so.”

“Yeah,” Billy nods, convincing himself. He apologizes once more for good measure, offloading the food onto Orlando, who very happily accepts it before shutting the door in his face and likely shuffling back to bed. Billy takes another breath before descending the stairs and venturing back out into the cold and toward the T, back in the direction from which he’d come.

*

**INTERLUDE: REAL**

Billy’s happy to have gotten a bit lost on his quest to find the darkroom on Harvard’s campus, pinballing between buildings in the quad and pulling Dominic’s coat tighter around himself at the bite in the air; he knows in his bones it’s going to snow soon. By the time he gets there, however, he’s worked himself up so fucking much that he’s ready to make a _statement._

There’s a sign on the door that reads, _Please knock before entering. Students at work._ Billy’s not sure a knock will accomplish much, though; he can hear music blaring from the other side. He fiercely hopes there aren’t any undergrads sharing time with Dom. He knocks anyway, and, hearing nothing, pushes through the heavy door, only to find a tiny, dark vestibule lit by just a little blue bulb in the ceiling, followed by yet another door, the real door to the darkroom by the look of it. 

Billy tries not to let any light in as he slips through, blinking a few times until his eyes adjust. He finds Dominic at a station in a far corner of the room, brow furrowed over his specs, hands encased in big, rubbery yellow gloves and working furiously. Billy watches him for a long moment, finally letting himself get overwhelmed by what he always feels whenever he sees Dom—not the Dom from last night but the Dom _he_ knows and, yes, loves: laser-focused and determined, nearly bursting with the need to express himself. The set of his shoulders is already tight and defensive underneath his t-shirt, though he still doesn’t know that Billy is there.

Billy walks quietly over to the boombox set up on a high shelf near the door and turns the volume down, just enough to get Dominic’s attention. He watches Dominic register the presence but finish what he’s working on before whipping around to catch a glimpse of his intruder. Billy gives him a timid wave. “Hi,” Dominic says, a bit breathless and not nearly as angry as Billy’d expected him to be. 

Billy slithers out of Dominic’s coat and drapes it over a stool near the celluloid closet. “Thought we’d make a switch at least.”

“Yeah, of course. Yours is hanging over there.” Dominic gestures at a row of hooks way on the other side of the room. 

Billy nods but doesn’t move from his spot. “Thanks,” he says politely. 

Dominic smiles congenially, though there’s something not quite convincing about it. “I’m sorry I was such a prick last night. I guess now you know what I’m like when I’m high.” He sounds friendly but clipped, far too dismissive for the situation at hand. It does what Billy supposes it’s meant to: thoroughly disarm him in one fell swoop. “Just forget whatever I said, yeah? All of it.” Dominic sweeps a gloved hand through the air before turning back to fiddle with the enlarger again.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Billy says quietly. He searches wildly for words as he stares at Dominic’s back again. “I actually went to your place first—Orlando told me you were here. I brought you breakfast, but... it would’ve gotten cold, so I just left it with him.”

“Oh?” Dominic sounds distracted. “‘S nice of you. He must be a pig in shit right about now.”

“Hm,” Billy lets out an imitation of a laugh. He continues watching Dominic in silence until his hands slow to a stop. 

Finally, Dominic pulls his gloves off and tosses them aside. He braces his hands on the edge of the counter and leans forward for purchase. “Maybe...” Dominic starts, then stops.

Billy takes a few strides closer, trying to encourage. “...What?”

“Maybe it’s better if we spend some time apart.”

Billy sighs, his heart set off again. _Here it comes._

“It’s unhealthy for me to be around you,” Dominic says quickly, and starts shuffling through a stack of photo paper.

“Unhealthy? How can you say that?” Though his words are a confrontation, Billy keeps his voice neutral; he doesn’t want to push Dom where he’d pushed him last night, or anywhere close.

“Just—. You make me feel... like I can do anything, and then—.” 

Billy approaches and leans against the station next to Dominic, finally catching a glimpse of his face. His eyes are closed. Billy reaches for him immediately, curling a hand gently around his forearm. 

Dominic inhales, turning to him and maneuvering out of the touch. “Come on, Billy,” he gives an exasperated laugh, as if all that he’s saying should be patently obvious to him. “We were never supposed to be friends.” Dominic sucks at his bottom lip and pushes a hand through his hair. He leans back against the counter, mirroring Billy’s position, and looks off in the direction of the chemical baths at the center of the room. “I hate knowing what it was like. I wish I didn’t. It would make things easier.”

“What?”

Dominic levels a dark look at him, not unlike the final look he’d given him before walking away last night.

Billy nearly flinches at it. “What what was like?”

“You know, for a Ph.D. you can be really fucking daft.” Dominic shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he waves his hand dismissively again and turns back, slipping his gloves back on so he can bring a print over to the baths. 

Billy watches as he moves the print methodically from one tub to the next with a pair of tongs, glancing at the clock on the wall from time to time. He’d had every intention of coming here with his tail between his legs, but he can only take so much of Dominic patronizing him before he becomes infuriated. Still, he hesitates. “What d’you expect from me? You’ve never been clear with me.” Before Dominic can retort, Billy plows ahead, quickly gaining volume—and momentum. “Even last night. That doesn’t count. You hide behind your sexuality, the flirting.” Dominic goes completely still. “Every time I think I’m getting something from you, something real that I can hold onto, you find a way to dodge, or, or take it back.” Billy shrugs, helpless. “I’ve never known what’s real and what’s not with you, since day one.” 

“How could you not know?!” Dominic nearly recoils from the sound of his own voice, suddenly conscious of any surrounding classrooms or offices. His eyes have gone wide in the dark, appealing to Billy. “How could you not know when we’re together?” 

“I need you to tell me.” Billy’s own voice goes slow and deliberate. “ _Tell me_ what I should know. I don’t know what you expect from me if you don’t make it real, Dom. You walked away from me last night before I could even give you an answer.” Dominic swallows. “What are you afraid of? Y’have no right to be, not of me.”

Dominic stands looking at Billy for a moment before he carefully pulls his gloves off again, giving his specs the same treatment. He sets both aside and takes two slow steps forward, bringing him just a foot’s length from Billy. He reaches for Billy’s hands, effectively bringing them back to where they’d left off last night, before everything had really gone to shite, and urges him even closer, brushing his mouth over Billy’s matter-of-factly. When he pulls back, releasing Billy’s hands, he can see the pulse point in his neck and feel the breath rushing out of his mouth. Dominic crosses his arms, somehow managing to look amusingly stern, his voice steady. “What’s your answer, then?”

Billy reaches out immediately, curling both hands around Dominic’s neck and pulling him into a real kiss, one that makes Dominic gasp into his mouth as Billy pulls them apart and quickly dives in again, pushing his hands up into Dom’s hair and gripping so he can physically cock Dom’s head to better fit them together. Once Dominic fully comes to his senses, his own hands fumble for Billy’s hips, finally finding traction in his belt loops and using them to make their hips collide before sliding up Billy’s front to brace against either side of Billy’s face. His mouth goes nearly horizontal in its attempt to push even harder against Billy’s, their tongues finally searching and meeting somewhere in the middle, warm and slick and uncompromising. 

Billy shuffles Dominic until his backside hits the edge of the chemical baths, their bodies going flush from chest to toe, Dominic’s breath rushing through his nose and ending in a purr that inspires Billy’s hands to push Dominic’s bangs out of his eyes and continue on their journey down, over lean shoulders, tripping over the collar of his t-shirt, fingertips momentarily singed at the warm skin underneath. 

Dominic pulls their mouths apart, nudging his forehead against Billy’s affectionately as they both take a very needed breather, a flush already blossoming high in Billy’s cheeks and his eyes gone that dark green that Dominic remembers too well. He still needs confirmation. “Then you have...?” he breathes.

Billy gives a vigorous nod. “Yes. Jesus, every second of every day.”

A growl of frustration—or appreciation—pushes its way out of Dominic’s throat at that. His mouth finds Billy’s again, his hands following suit, sliding down to curl over his shoulders, clinging there. “I knew,” he whines as they part again. Billy nudges his face aside, dipping into the crook of his neck to give him a wet bite there. “ _Oh_... I fucking knew,” Dominic says again, his eyes rolling back a little at the feel of Billy’s mouth— _Billy’s mouth_ —marking him so thoroughly. 

Billy wraps his arms around Dominic’s back, effectively cradling him as they push together, bending Dom backward over the edge of the baths. He stops to inhale the skin at Dominic’s neck, already slick with his own saliva and its scent much stronger than the coat he’d just set aside moments ago. “You’ve no idea.”

Dominic palms the back of Billy’s head hard, forcing more than encouraging him to bite again. “Then you’d better give me one.”

Billy obliges but not for long, opting instead to purse a heated trail of kisses back up to Dominic’s mouth before their tongues push together again. Dominic’s hands flail awkwardly as Billy bends him even further back, torn between wanting to move somewhere safer and wanting to stay right here with their hips locked together tight and Billy’s hands creeping underneath the hem of his tee to thumb at his sides. 

Dominic finally pulls his mouth away, and Billy looks at him expectantly, impatient though he clearly is. Dominic fills with intense pride as soon as he recognizes it. “‘S chemicals and stuff here,” he explains, licking his lips.

“Is there—?” Billy’s eyes dart around a little.

Dominic gets distracted by the shine of Billy’s swollen mouth in the dark before he nods and grabs at his shirt. “Yeah,” he breathes, pulling him in the direction of the closet. He fumbles in the pocket of his denims for the key, Billy standing a respectful foot or two behind him but still keeping them connected with a few light fingertips at the side of his waist. Dominic flings the door open, Billy following close behind and just making it into the little room before it slams shut, heavy and metallic, throwing them into complete darkness.

Billy can feel Dominic’s presence near him, his warmth, but not being able to see him, decide where to put his hands and mouth next, even for a split second, is beyond frustrating. The brief silence breaks the spell of just before, the madness of it, but it also imbues it with a seriousness that scares Billy. The touches to come have weight. He listens to them both breathe for a few beats, then laughs a little, nervous. “Where are you?” He turns blindly and reaches a hand out tentatively into the pitch blackness, finding nothing.

With the tinny _snap_ of a click, a little desk lamp with a blue bulb—just like the one that had helped lead Billy here—illuminates the closet as much as is needed. It’s about the size of two closets, really, standard, at least from what Billy remembers of his own days dabbling in photography. There is an actual worktop on which the lamp sits that’s otherwise clear. Dominic hovers there, looking suddenly timid, completely disarming Billy again.

Billy walks over in quick, sure strides, stopping suddenly just short of where their bodies would make contact. Dominic’s hands curl around the edge of the worktop behind him, his eyes wide and utterly focused on Billy’s. Billy reaches out, sweeping the hair off of his forehead again and combing it back to join the rest. Dominic leans instinctively into the touch, his face turning with Billy’s hand as it slides down to palm his cheek. “You sweet—” Billy exhales. He’s taken every opportunity to marvel at how easily Dominic can disguise himself, shift the very look of his face to fit any situation and project whatever he desires. Now, he’s making himself naked for Billy, his eyes speaking volumes about what he’s truly felt over these past weeks, months. “Have you been hurt?” Billy whispers. Dominic’s eyes fall shut. “Did _I_ hurt you?” Dominic nods. Billy brushes a kiss over his mouth in apology, and one of Dominic’s hands comes up to join his own, long fingers sliding between his. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to. I’d never want to.”

Dominic gathers Billy’s hand—the one cradling his cheek—with both his hands, opening it up in front of his face and pressing a wet kiss to the center of his palm. From there, his mouth works outward, kissing to the tip of one of Billy’s fingers, which he then pushes past his lips so he can curl his tongue around it, just to the first knuckle. Billy lets out a frustrated little noise as he watches this, stepping closer to press himself full-on against Dominic’s thigh, and feel Dominic pressed hot and damp against his own hip. Dominic’s eyelids go heavy at the contact, his teeth just grazing over Billy’s skin as the digit slides from his mouth. Before he can move on to the next finger, Billy leans in and captures his mouth again, setting twisted bites to his lower lip and sucking to soothe the burn they leave behind. Dominic can do little but drape his arms over Billy’s shoulders and lean into it, his mouth soon becoming a burning, swollen, sensual mess, feeling drugged from it all.

Without warning, Billy’s precise little hands reach around to the backs of his thighs and pull, lifting him up and onto the worktop, making him gasp. Dom’s legs catch up much earlier than his brain, wrapping right around Billy’s lower back just as they’ve done thousands of times before, in his dreams and daydreams. Billy’s tongue plunges inside his mouth again, and Dominic pulls at the hair at Billy’s nape, opening himself up as Billy tries to swallow him whole. _Mission accomplished_ , he thinks to himself as his back goes at an obtuse angle to the worktop, his legs pulling Billy still closer and his hips seeking something, anything, to thrust against.

Billy does his best to give Dom some support with his arms, wrapping them protectively around his back as he bends him closer and closer to the surface of the worktop. Dominic’s responses to nearly every touch, every movement of Billy’s own mouth, are fierce, more than generous, his breathing labored and his hands clinging and pushing wherever they can reach. Billy doesn’t recall him being nearly so vocal the last time they slept together; he’d been quiet, if anything. The rush of the memory slithers down Billy’s spine, colliding with the present and everything in between, making Billy’s head spin. He tears their mouths apart and smiles a little, breathless. He can’t believe that this Dominic, the one who’s twined around him like this, is the same Dominic who picked him up on the street months ago, lured him in with a curl of smoke and a wicked smile. “Been dying to touch you again.”

“ _God_.” Dominic comes forward with a push of a kiss that puts them both vertical again, sliding between Billy and the edge of the worktop back down to his feet, the friction of the move making his mouth tremble against Billy’s. His fingers race to pull the buttons on Billy’s shirt free, seeking all the warm skin underneath that they’ve missed better than they know. Dominic inhales deeply as Billy’s chest is uncovered bit by bit, his heart working to slow. He watches his own hands instead of Billy’s eyes, sincerely afraid he’ll come apart if he looks at them for too long. “I would do anything for you, you know,” he says quietly. “Physically, I mean. Whatever you want.”

Billy reaches for his hands, stopping them short, his shirt unbuttoned just over halfway. “Should we go somewhere?” He glances off in the direction of the world beyond the door, implying the question, _Will we be caught?_

Dominic shakes his head firmly. “No.” He kisses Billy’s mouth. “I can’t wait for you,” he admits. “Just... anything, come on, I’ve...,” he presses a timid kiss to the corner of Billy’s jaw, “... _missed_ you.”

At that, Billy’s hands creep down under the hem of Dominic’s shirt, rucking it up as he falls to his knees, grazing lips and teeth over the planes of Dom’s stomach. He thinks, weirdly, of the two of them in that church again, Dominic genuflecting before the altar with reverence. This body, this _man_ that he’s worshipped for all these months, feels, smells, and tastes just as Billy’d remembered. The muscles of Dominic’s stomach fuse and become more pronounced under the dim blue light, shiny streaks of Billy’s own saliva making him reach down and grip himself through his denims. Dominic must notice this, because he responds immediately, gripping a fistful of Billy’s hair, not enough to hurt him but enough to make the blood beat a little harder in his veins. 

Billy squeezes himself hard as he finally settles onto his knees, face to face with Dominic’s crotch, most of his shirt still hanging open. As he does this, he presses his nose and open mouth to the bulge straining there, tracing it with his tongue. “ _Billy_ ,” Dominic whispers fiercely above him, and starts to pant a little. Billy’s fingers reach up immediately, curling around Dominic’s waistband and pulling the two halves of his button fly apart. He licks his lips, nostrils flaring as Dominic falls out, flushed red and nearly painful looking. Billy wraps one hand around it, thumb stroking the vein on the underside to just under the head, urging a bead of precome, his other hand awkwardly yanking Dom’s denims down to his knees, Dominic’s legs shuffling out and inviting him in between. 

Billy shuffles closer, flattening his tongue under and sweeping up over the head, groaning at both the taste of Dominic and the heat he’s giving off. He swallows, coating his tongue with it before he comes forward again, wrapping his lips around the entire head and curling his tongue all around it. 

Dominic gasps, his brows pinching, and bites his lip, closing his eyes as he feels Billy getting his cock wet, manhandling it, his gorgeous little mouth playful and seemingly everywhere at once. Dom inhales sharp and loud when Billy takes him into his mouth completely, tongue wet and slithering up against the underside on the retreat. He grips Billy’s hair two-handed, somehow managing to keep his hips from thrusting as Billy’s head starts bobbing, the head of his cock nearly reaching the back of Billy’s throat. 

Billy’s hands slide up his thighs, one flattening at Dominic’s hip to anchor him and the other reaching around to palm a fleshy asscheek, his fingers creeping toward Dominic’s crack, blunt nails setting off sparks along that sensitive skin. Dominic lets out a strained noise, his hips floating forward of their own accord, making Billy’s rhythm stutter and his breath push hard through his nostrils. Dominic glances down, ready to apologize, seeing Billy’s hands both reach for his hips, firm, pressing them back into the worktop, his thumbs fitting into the lines along his pelvic muscle. Billy glances up at him and swallows pointedly around his cock, and Dominic’s jaw drops, the breath rushing clear out of him. 

His eyes roll back and he tilts his face toward the ceiling. “Can’t believe this is happening,” he inhales.

The sound of the first door to the darkroom makes them both go suddenly still. One of Dominic’s hands slides down from Billy’s hair to grip at his shoulder, holding him in limbo—wanting him to be ready to get to his feet and get himself together but not wanting him to preemptively stop what he’s doing. “Anyone working in here?” comes a muffled voice from the other side.

“Uhh,” Dominic starts, Billy leaning forward to press his mouth to his thigh—or hide his laughter, if the amused curl of his lips is any indication. Dominic clears his throat, smacking Billy on the shoulder. “Yeah! Just give me about ten minutes, I’ll be done.” Billy’s teeth are bared and he’s full-on laughing against Dominic’s skin now. Dominic can’t help but laugh a little too, though the sight of Billy on his knees with his shirt open, hair mussed from his own hands, brings him at least halfway back to where he’d been just before the intrusion. Billy looks up at him, hands still cradling his hips, poised to go to work again, his mouth glistening. Dominic runs his thumb along his lower lip affectionately, encouraging, and Billy’s eyes instantly go dark again. Dominic bites back a smile, thrilled that he can inspire such an unequivocal reaction from him. 

Billy presses a kiss to his thumb, a look of recognition passing between them: that sweet gesture from the night they first met. “Cover your mouth,” Billy advises, the way his accent wraps around the words, caressing them, pushing Dominic about ten steps closer to the edge before Billy licks his cock right into his mouth again.

“Oh fuck, _fuck_ ,” Dominic hisses, running a hand up over his chest and through his hair before clamping it obediently over his own mouth. Billy quickly works his way back to a hot, wet rhythm, the lewd soundtrack of it making Dominic bite the heel of his hand and groan. 

Dominic feels Billy wrap a hand around the base of his prick, tongue sneaking out to lick at his own fingers as his nose pushes and nuzzles close to the musk of Dominic’s pubic hair. It feels deliciously sloppy, but there’s intention there, he soon discovers, as those saliva-soaked fingers trail down, curling deftly, gently over the flesh of his balls and brushing behind, between Dominic’s legs, firmly over that sweet spot, one fingertip pressing just inside his entrance.

Dominic moans loud and unabashed into his hand, keening a little as Billy’s finger presses and curls inside, as far as it can manage at this angle, his mouth still working, glorious and slippery over his cock. Billy loses what little breath he still has at this reaction, and at the feel of Dominic’s balls dragging hot and heavy against his wrist. He couldn’t care less, though; he’ll lose all higher functions and pass out before he stops what he’s doing, anything to keep Dominic panting and starting to whine the way that he is.

Dominic slams both hands on the worktop at his sides, putting himself completely in Billy’s hands and at his mercy, his hips rocking him from Billy’s mouth back against his hand. “Close,” he manages just moments before he starts to come in hot, thick pulses, down Billy’s throat. Billy braces himself, swallowing furiously and hands holding Dominic in place until he’s gotten it all. Dominic lets out a loud aftershock of a moan as he watches his cock slip from Billy’s mouth, a thin thread of come trailing over Billy’s chin.

Billy gets to his feet shakily and wipes ineffectually at it, missing most of it, until Dominic darts in, helpfully licking a trail up his neck and over his chin to his mouth, unfurling his tongue inside, the taste of him passing between them. Billy pulls quickly away, and Dominic nearly panics for a brief moment before he realizes that Billy’s still quite winded. He reaches down, using both hands to tuck Dominic back into his denims and taking his time buttoning them back up as he smiles against Dominic’s neck, kissing him there. “Wish I could do that again, right now.” 

Dominic kisses Billy feverishly, sucking on his tongue and pushing his hands through his hair, thoroughly reluctant to let him go. There’s no way he’s going to let this end, not now.

Billy pulls back, playfully, cradling Dominic’s face in his hands and smiling. He feels shockingly relaxed and clear-headed, almost as if he’s just come himself. “Want to go back to mine?”

Dominic’s face breaks into a bright, gorgeous smile at the question, and Billy kisses him impulsively again before he can even answer. Dominic giggles and drags his mouth lazily along the column of Billy’s neck. “‘S a little late for that question, isn’t it?” Billy lets out the beginning of a laugh, though he goes still, patient. Dominic nods vigorously enough that Billy can feel it against his neck. “Yes.”

“Good,” Billy exhales, fumbling on the wall for a switch to a proper light. He wishes suddenly for a teleporter. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we get there.” His hand makes contact with a switch, and the little room is suddenly bathed in light, the both of them squinting as all sorts of shelves and gadgets are made visible.

Dominic can’t take his eyes off of Billy, though, the evidence of what they’ve just done streaked across his cheeks, his shirt quite rumpled and still half-open, a bit damp in certain places, his hair in disarray. Dominic reaches for him. “C’mere.” He’s not entirely sure if it’s in the name of righting his appearance or disheveling him further. The only thing spurring his hands to fasten Billy’s buttons is the thrilling idea that he’ll have the opportunity to undo them again in less than half an hour, if they’re quick enough and the MBTA cooperates. 

As he pulls and smoothes tufts of Billy’s hair back into place, his mind reels with ideas for what he’ll do with him once they’ve gotten home. A part of him sincerely contemplates the possibility that this night will be it, and if that’s the case, he’s going to do his best to either change Billy’s mind or at least make it memorable. Inspired, he shuffles Billy forward and against the door, pressing against him full body, and gives him a bruise of a kiss.

Billy looks at him, his eyes filled with wonder and anticipation, his hands resting on the small of Dominic’s back. He has so many questions, but for now, Christ, this is happening, and shockingly, he trusts it. He trusts Dominic.


End file.
